


The Long Way Home

by Nodusormu, swansaloft



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Disaster Baz, M/M, Obliviously Obsessed Simon, Romance, Slow Burn, Social Media, Watford Eighth Year, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nodusormu/pseuds/Nodusormu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/swansaloft/pseuds/swansaloft
Summary: Welcome to Eighth Year at Watford School of Magicks, where no one knows anything.Baz doesn’t know why his spell won't work or how Simon Snow remains as annoyingly attractive as ever. Simon doesn’t know what Baz is plotting or why a dragon suddenly delivers a prophecy.And no one knows Baz and Simon are now friends.No one.Not even them.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Hello! This fic is co-written by Nodusormu (Baz) and swansaloft (Simon). All other POVs are a toss-up and/or a collaboration! This our first attempt at Snowbaz fic, and we hope you enjoy!
> 
> 2) There's some Overwatch discussion in the prologue, but this will not be the primary storyline, and **no video game knowledge is required!**
> 
> 3) Title is from "Sparrow" by Emeli Sandé.
> 
> 4) Updates will be posted weekly on Fridays.

_We got magic in our bones_  
_Just like the stars, we're gonna shine, bright and golden_  
_We go bang down all the doors_  
_Make sure we take back all the things that were stolen_

_**“Sparrow” by Emeli Sandé** _

 

**SIMON**

 

When the Mage sent me back into care this summer, I thought things would be pretty much the same as usual.

Of course, _usually_ , I haven’t just been kidnapped out of thin air by the Humdrum.

 _Usually_ I don’t sweat blood.

But that’s the rest of the year. At Watford, you never know when a worseger might pop up, or the Humdrum might send a chimera, or Baz might be plotting something evil.

(Actually, strike that - Baz is always plotting something evil.)

But the summers? They’re always the same.

Different homes, different kids; same lousy food and wary eyes. Same boredom that sits like a heavy weight on my chest as I stew in silence, refusing to think of the good things waiting for me at the end of a season so long it feels like a year.

But this summer has held a lot of surprises, and it’s only been a couple weeks yet.

I let myself mull over them as I straighten the tins on the shelf, keeping the till in the corner of my eye so I can see if anyone goes for the queue.

**Four Things I Never Expected To Happen the Summer Before My Last Year at Watford**

**1) Getting a mobile**

The Mage gave me one right before he sent me away. Plopped it into my hands, all new and shiny, and it nearly slid right through my fingers.

“Keep it close by, Simon. If I need you, I’ll be in touch.”

He disappeared without answering any of my questions, and I barely even had time to get Penny’s number before she left. I had to get Agatha’s from her.

They’re still the only two in my contacts.

I thought maybe the Mage had forgotten to input his, but after a while, I realized it was probably on purpose. He doesn’t want me relying on him. Says I need to learn to do things myself.

Which I guess is fair. Even though after the Humdrum-

I bite my lip. I won’t question the Mage. He knows best.

**2) Getting a Normal job**

I was handed a job when I was 11: being the Chosen One.

Not that I really knew what that meant then.

(Not that I really know what it means now.)

But since then, I’d never really thought about becoming a plumber or an accountant or a lawyer. Whenever I imagined myself grown up, I was fighting side-by-side with the Mage, taking on the Humdrum or defending the World of Mages from some dire threat.

Still, a couple days after I showed up at my new care home for the summer - a bit dodgy, but not nearly as bad as some I’ve stayed in - the shop at the end of the block put up a sign in the window. I walked in for a chat with the owner, and I walked out with a job.

I have to wear this hideous, bright red apron that makes me look like a twit, but at least it gets me out of the home for a few hours a day. Gives me something to do with my hands. And I like meeting people, even if Normals aren’t always sure what to think of me.

**3) Breaking up with Agatha**

To be completely honest, I should’ve seen this one coming.

She wants to be with Baz. I’ve always known it.

Of course, she didn’t _say_ that.

What she said was, _Simon, I care about you a lot, but I don’t care about you the way I should care about someone I call my boyfriend, you know?_

And I did know. But I was hoping I could fix it. Or, really, I suppose I was hoping it would fix itself. Like when you see a beautiful sunrise and you hold your breath, because you don’t want to spoil it. Agatha’s that kind of perfect. I thought maybe, if I didn’t breathe, _maybe_ we could keep it going. I could still spend Christmas with her parents, and eventually we’d spend all our Christmases together.

Maybe they’ll all take a family trip to Pitch manor this Christmas.

Merlin, that’s a terrifying thought.

**4) Getting into video games**

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those gits who thinks the telly will rot your brains and you’re better off reading a book.

(Baz probably is. But he’s a git who likes boring books, so.)

I just never thought I’d get the chance. Electronics are forbidden at Watford, and a PS4 isn’t like a mobile - you can’t just slip it into your pocket when the prefects make the monthly rounds looking for contraband.

As for homes, well. The funding isn’t exactly pouring in, and when it does, video games aren’t a priority.

But the second week I was here, some rich knob decided he would drop into the home like the Father Christmas of summer. He donated a brand new PS4 and a whole stack of games, then disappeared, never to be seen again.

Of course, the kids went wild.

I helped Mrs. Jenkins set up one account for everyone to share, and she made the kids draw straws for who would get to name it. The winner was this scrawny kid who’s always reading detective novels (Angus, I think), and he christened it **Sirdabsalot**.

Which still makes me laugh more than it should, probably.

I’ve never slept well anywhere besides Watford, and I’ve found that playing Overwatch is a good way to kill the hours of the night when I can’t sleep anyway.

(Plus this way I get to play without feeling bad about pushing everyone out of the common room. When I get too into a game - which, turns out, is pretty much always - my magic starts leaking, and it makes the Normals around me feel sick.)

It took me a while to get the hang of things - how the controller worked, which characters to choose. I picked D.va at first because she was a tank and seemed like the easiest to keep alive while I figured out what the hell I was doing. But when I found out her ultimate ability is basically _going off_ , I got attached. So now she’s all I play, and after a couple weeks of playing for hours every night, I’m pretty good.

Surprisingly, I see a lot of the same names on an almost nightly basis, and I’ve teamed up with a few. But there’s this one sniper player I love having on my team, because he’s absolutely vicious.

“Excuse me,” an elderly gentleman interrupts my train of thought. I show him to the tea he requests and then move to stand at the till, so I’ll be ready when needed.

Pulling out my mobile and glancing at the screen, I stifle a sigh. Only another hour of my shift, then a few more hours before everyone goes to bed and I can play.

I hope PitchStriker will be on tonight.

Almost as though I’ve summoned him, a notification from the PS4 app pops up.

 

**PitchStriker: Haha, very funny, Hanzo, you can switch now.**

 

I frown, tapping the notification. I pull up his profile (simple and to the point: _He/him. Not an aimbot, so if you’re here to yell at me, kindly fuck off._ ), and it shows he’s online.

But I’m not.

Shit, he thinks we’re teamed up, but he’s probably playing with Angus or one of the other kids.

Another message appears.

 

**PitchStriker: ?? Not funny anymore. They’re murdering us. We need your tanking skills!**

 

“Excuse me?”

I look up from the screen, my thumbs poised to reply, then slip the mobile in my pocket when I find a middle-aged blonde woman frowning at me disapprovingly.

I check her items as quickly as I can, but as soon as we’re finished, there’s a man lined up behind her.

It’s another thirty minutes before I’m able to check my mobile again. By then PitchStriker is offline, but at least I can still see his profile. He hasn’t blocked me.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll just have to explain later.

 

**BAZ**

 

Summer holiday has never truly been a holiday for me, not since the years before Watford. Now I have functions to attend, hands to shake, and smiles to flash at the right names my father wishes me to know. It’s rather dull, and I dislike it greatly.

It’s a waste of time. All of it is. I’d much rather be back at school, honestly. I have things to _do_ there, my eighth year spell to perfect, and I miss the library and the pitch. I miss… well, I miss a lot of things.

One of which, and it disgusts me to admit, is Simon Snow.

I miss him every year during the summer regardless of how I try to convince myself otherwise. Everything from his excessive pen clicking to his stupid mouth breathing at night. (It’s difficult to sleep properly without it. The breathing part. Actually, fuck the pen clicking. I hate the pen clicking.)

I hate myself for it. I hate _him_ for it. He has me locked in his orbit when we shouldn’t even be in the same galaxy. _Crowley_.

I don’t want to think about that right now, though. I’m too busy getting comfortable on the sofa in my room and connecting the controller in my hand to the PS4.

Purchasing a gaming system has been the best distraction that summer could have offered me. I don’t have to think while I play, only react.

Games aren’t exactly my area of expertise, so I kind of just bought whatever sounded good at the time.

“It’s so much fun,” the clerk had said with a wide grin. “And there’s a ranked system so you can level up and get special golden weapons. It’s wicked.”

It wasn’t my first choice, this Overwatch, but I did buy it with a few other titles. I enjoyed Dishonored very much, but the moment I finished it, I was done. I tried to go back and get all the achievements but grew bored quickly.

But Overwatch is different. It’s played online and with other people. The clerk suggested a mic, which I bought and regretted within hours of first trying the game. If it wasn’t bad enough that I was playing with Normals, whenever I tried to help, they either ignored me or insulted me. I shouted back at them, of course. But after a few rounds, I grew tired of it and just threw the headset on the sofa beside me, where it’s stayed ever since.

In the few weeks I’ve been playing (mostly at night), I have met a few people I like to play with regularly.

My favorite probably has to be Sirdabsalot. Even though his name is ridiculous, he’s a bloody brilliant D.Va and doesn’t mind that I mostly play snipers (which I dominate at, thanks to my vampire reflexes).

I open the PS4 app, find his username, and pull up our one sided conversation from earlier to continue it. (He’d been on and playing, but when I joined his game, he played like rubbish and wouldn’t respond to my messages. I figured he’d been in a mood or maybe a sibling was on his account. Maybe it will be the real Sirdabsalot this time.)

I most definitely do not mentally cross my fingers.

 

**PitchStriker: Hey. Want to team up?**

 

He starts to message me back almost immediately, the ellipses loading slowly.

 

**Sirdabsalot: Yes! I got a few hours to play**

**Sirdabsalot: Uh, actually sorry about before. That was my cousin probably**

**Sirdabsalot: For future ref, I only play late at night. If it's not past midnight BST then it's one of my cousins playing. They're rubbish but they do try**

**PitchStriker: That explains the Hanzo earlier.**

**Sirdabsalot: And it explains my username. I let them pick it, if I'd picked mine it would've been cool like yours. I love football tho I'm no striker myself, defence mostly**

 

“My username is cool?” I ask a loud to an empty room. Dev made a snide little comment about my username when I first made the account, something about puns being the lowest form of humor. I disagree. Because it’s my fucking _name_.

 

**PitchStriker: Defence? I’d break right through you, mate. I dominate the pitch.**

**Sirdabsalot: HAH doubtful. But if your aggression on the pitch is anything like your Widow play then I might believe you**

 

Did he just insult me _and_ compliment me? Both on the field and in the game? What a git. (That’s what _I_ do to people!)

 

**PitchStriker: Yeah yeah are we going to play tonight or what?**

**Sirdabsalot: Add me to group and Q us up**

 

So I add him to group and queue us immediately. The next thing I know it’s pushing five in the morning and my eyes damn near bleeding. I’m so tired that I start drifting in and out of it while we wait in queue for our tenth or twelfth game.

I need to lie down.

I back out of the game before messaging him one more time.

 

**PitchStriker: You should get Skype or Discord so I don’t accidently swear at your cousins and get you into trouble or something.**

**PitchStriker: Also I’m dying. Good luck on any more games tonight.**

 

Once the television is off, I slump into the sofa cushions and relax. I can vaguely hear my mobile going off as the sweet embrace of sleep takes me.

 

**Sirdabsalot: Ok I made a discord**

**Sirdabsalot: PugsNotDrugs#8561**

**Sirdabsalot: Gn :)**

 

I don’t see his response until the early afternoon. I find the Discord app in my mobile and add him. He’s the third person on my friend’s list. (Dev and Niall are the only others, and even then we text, if need be.)

 

**This is the beginning of your direct message history with @PugsNotDrugs#8561**

**(Today at 11:47 am)**

**PitchStriker: I thought you said your username would be cool if you picked it?**

**PitchStriker: What a load of bollocks.**

 

At least I have the decency to be consistent with usernames.

I go about my day after that and don’t even notice the notification light going off until dinner.

 

**(Today at 3:14 pm)**

**PugsNotDrugs: Stuff it**

 

**(Today at 7:07 pm)**

**PitchStriker: I’ll be on later tonight.**

 

I type back to him before I eat dinner alone in my room. I have to hunt before I settle in for a night of games.

 

**(Today at 11:51 pm)**

**PugsNotDrugs: I’m getting on**

 

He’s already on the game when I get back from the woods and a shower. So I log in, join up, and we play in silence, winning some and losing others. It’s brilliant and fun. I don’t think about Watford or Simon Snow. (That’s a lie. I think about him all the time, and I fucking cannot stand myself because of it.)

I pretend to be Normal and play with him through the rest of July and August. We chat on Discord some, mostly about the game. Once, he went on a very impassioned rant about how someone dropped several glass bottles of tomato sauce near the end of his shift. I found myself grinning at that and actually laughing. He sent me pictures of it, and of the mop he used to clean it up. (I think it was about then I started associating him with being a friend.)

But now it’s September, and term will be starting soon.

I’m both excited and dreading my last year at Watford School for Magicks. I’m having to wean myself off playing every night, since I can’t take the PS4 with me. I’ve started doing football drills out at the grass field on our property after dinner. (Had to dust off my poor trainers.) I spend my nights practicing my spellwork and going over the lengthy notes I’ve taken on creating a new spell for my eighth year..

Because of this, it takes me a few days before I notice the handful of messages on Discord that I’ve apparently been ignoring.

 

**(Last Wednesday at 9:16 pm)**

**PugsNotDrugs: THE TOSSER DID IT AGAIN**

**PugsNotDrugs: WHY ON MY SHIFT!? WHY THE GLASS BOTTLES**

**PugsNotDrugs: Look at this**

**PugsNotDrugs: <SauceAndGlassEverywhere.jpg>**

 

**(Last Thursday at 12:01 am)**

**PugsNotDrugs: Oi wanna play?**

 

**(Last Friday at 12:28 am)**

**PugsNotDrugs: Wanna play?**

 

**(Last Saturday at 11:53 pm)**

**PugsNotDrugs: You gonna be on tonight?**

 

**(Today at 2:42 am)**

**PugsNotDrugs: ??**

**PugsNotDrugs: Did you die?**

**PugsNotDrugs: Oh no please don’t actually be dead, that would be fucking dreadful**

 

 _Oops_. I hadn’t meant to ignore him.

 

**(Today at 11:57 pm)**

**PitchStriker: Sorry. I’ve prepping for term to start. Got football drills and last minute homework to finish.**

 

Switching apps, I check to see if he’s on Overwatch, but before it even loads, I get a notification from him on Discord again.

 

**(Today at 11:59 pm)**

**PugsNotDrugs: No worries**

**PugsNotDrugs: I should probably be doing the same but I’m in the Mood to Win**

**PugsNotDrugs: Wanna join me?**

 

The responsible thing would be to say no and finish going over my spell notes, but I haven’t played in a few days. And the company, though silent, would be nice.

 

**(Today at 12:02 am)**

**PitchStriker: Sure, give me a few to get on, then add me.**

**PitchStriker: Also, I should probably mention this now.**

**PitchStriker: School starting up soon. I’ve got football and full classes this term. I won’t be on at all, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still message me. If you want or whatever.  
**   


Yes, end it in ‘whatever.’ I don’t care, I really don’t. (I do, and I hate it. Aleister Crowley himself would stake me if he knew I wanted to stay friends with a Normal.)

But it’s been nice. Playing and talking to him. I don’t really talk to anyone. (Unless I’m insulting Snow or debating Bunce in class.)

I step on that feeling and turn off my mobile screen so I don’t have to look at the answer and just log into the game for one of the last time this summer. It’s brilliant, and we win, and I pass out on the sofa.

 

**(Today at 12:19 am)**

**PugsNotDrugs: Yeah, same with me about all the school stuff and not playing**

**PugsNotDrugs: But I’ll still be around here, no worries**

**PugsNotDrugs: :)**

 

Reading that in the morning puts a grin on my face. (I need to start controlling that more. Can’t have the student body of Watford thinking I smile without a sneer, now can we.)

We keep talking, and I absolutely do not tell him when I nearly break an arm _and_ leg doing a bicycle kick the following evening. I maintain my pitch dominance when we talk about football and lie through my fangs while propped up in bed with a bloody sling and foot wrap.

Even with the help of healing spells, I'm going to miss the new school year ceremonies. I'm going to miss a few nights of listening to Simon Snow's stupid mouth breathing.

It's fine, though. Pugs is keeps me company in short replies and ramblings about random subjects added to his coursework, all of which sounds like dreadful Normal business.

I love it, though. A perfect distraction until I can finally walk myself through the Watford gates and narrow my focus onto my eighth and final year.

 

**SIMON**

 

I’m on the train, just about to start on my list of things I love about Watford when my mobile buzzes in my pocket.

I instinctively know who it is, even though it could just as easily be Penny or Agatha. And as I look down, it occurs to me that I should add a fifth thing to my summer list.

**5) Making a new friend**

 

**(Today at 2:24 pm)**

**PitchStriker: Having spaghetti and thinking of you.**

**PitchStriker: This sauce is delicious. :)**

 

I snort.

I decide my Watford list can wait another minute, and then I start typing back, smiling despite myself.

 

**(Today at 2:25 pm)**

**PugsNotDrugs: Tosser**


	2. Chapter 2

**SIMON**

Baz isn’t there when I fling wide the door to our room.

(Thank Merlin. I want at least one night to myself before I have to deal with him and his annoyingly brilliant one-liners.)

I drop my rucksack onto the bed and immediately shove open the window. The sky is dark, the moon is bright, and the breeze whips in immediately, filling the stale room with fresh air holding only a faint, pleasant hint of brine.

I take a deep breath, feeling the night air against my face.

It’s good to be home.

\--

Baz still isn’t back when I get return from breakfast the next morning, but that’s to be expected. I’m the early bird in this roommates-slash-mortal-enemies-ship. Baz stays up too late drinking blood and plotting and doing other vampire-y things.

(I don’t know the exact specifics. He was an absolute nightmare last year anytime I trailed him, so I didn’t do it unless I got the feeling he was up to something extra evil. And maybe once a month besides, to show him I hadn’t forgotten about him.)

The point is that Baz is _not_ a morning person. It takes him a good while to wake up in the mornings. Probably the only thing about him that isn’t bloody perfect.

Other than the aforementioned evilness and vampirism, obviously. But I’m the only one who seems to be concerned about these, as much as I try to warn everyone else.

I really only start to worry when he isn’t here for tea. By then, all the littluns have arrived, and most of the uppers as well.

By the time they pull up the drawbridge after sundown, everyone else is here. The lower halls of Mummers House are alive with shouts of greeting and bustling bodies. I hear someone trying to get a five-a-side going, and normally I’d join, but I pretend I don’t hear them as I stomp up the stairs.

Maybe he sneaked in without my noticing?

But when I get back to the room, it looks exactly the same as I left it earlier. His bed looks pristine, no bags on the floor, and most of all, I don’t smell his ridiculously posh soap on the air. Just to be sure, I inch his wardrobe open with one finger, just a bit, but it’s completely empty.

I slam the door shut with slightly more force than necessary, taking another glance around the room.

Term starts tomorrow. Baz should be here. There’s no way he would skip out on eighth year.

Absolutely no way.

I whip out my mobile to text Penny.

 

**(20:16) S: baz isn’t back yet**

**(20:16) S: this is weird**

**(20:16) S: i bet he’s up to something**

 

**(20:20) P: Maybe he just isn’t coming back for eighth year? It is optional, you know.**

 

**(20:21) S: yeah yeah you already mentioned at dinner**

**(20:21) S: but there’s no way he’d miss it**

**(21:22) S: he’s plotting something i know it**

 

**(20:23) P: We’re sorry, you have reached your Baz Limit for the day. Please try again tomorrow.**

**(20:23) P: Or on second thought, never.**

 

**(20:25) S: Pen be serious!!**

 

**(20:25) P: I am serious, Simon. Seriously annoyed.**

 

**(20:26) S: :(**

 

**(20:28) P: Do you want me to come over? We could start on our eighth year spell! You’re going to have the best partner ever. :)**

 

**(20:30) S: …….no thanks. looks like one of the blokes is setting up a quick match. think i’ll join**

 

No, I won’t. But snake’s sake, I love Penny, but I refuse to do homework before term even _starts_.

 

**(20:30) P: Have fun! See you tomorrow.**

 

**(20:31) S: see you :)**

 

I toss my mobile aside and blow out a breath.

Maybe Baz went down to the catacombs? That’s his usual haunt.

But he would have brought his things up to the room first. He isn’t back yet, and there’s no point in ruining my night waiting for him. I just wish I had an inkling of what was going on, so I would know what I need to be prepared for.

Maybe I should just make an early night of it. I always sleep better at Watford than I do anywhere else, but this staying up all night gaming thing has really fucked up my sleeping pattern. It’s going to be hell when classes start tomorrow. Getting up bright and early for food is one thing, but staying awake while the professor drones on in Political Science is another.

May as well try it.

I get into position and close my eyes, but I know immediately this is the most ridiculous plan I’ve ever had (and I once tried to face down a worseger with a tennis racket). There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep.

I feel around for my my mobile and bring up my DMs with PitchStriker instead.

 

**(Today at 8:48 pm)**

**PugsNotDrugs: hey**

 

I hit send before I realize that I don’t even know what I’m going to say. I chew my lip, thinking, but no dots appear to show he’s writing back. So I just keep typing whatever comes to mind.

 

**PugsNotDrugs: first day back at school. Gonna be weird not playing lol**

**PugsNotDrugs: and i have to get used to sharing my room again. Two blokes living in a room is one too many**

**PugsNotDrugs: especially when one of them is a git**

 

Of course, I’d shared a room with five other blokes over the summer, but that was way easier than living with Baz.

They were Normals.

He’s an evil vampire who lives to torture me and probably one day kill me.

Slight difference.

I wait a minute, but Striker doesn’t respond. I don’t really expect him to. He mentioned he was expecting a busy term, so he’s probably busy with back to school stuff.

I go out and watch the match for a while, then practice my form with my sword until I drop it one too many times, and either Rhys or Gareth bangs on the ceiling below me.

It’s after midnight, so. Fair.

I try lying in bed again, hoping that I’ll fall asleep, but I don’t. Then inspiration strikes, and I grab one of the books I had to get for Normal Lit this year.

_A Tale of Two Cities._

Looks like it should put me to sleep good and proper.

Sure enough, I’m not even through the second chapter when it becomes impossible to keep my eyes open.

I switch out the light and fall asleep to the sight of Baz’s bed, dark and empty in front of me.

\--

The next day, Baz still hasn’t arrived.

I see Agatha for the first time, and it’s a bit awkward, but she smiles at me, and I wave at her, and I think we’re going to be okay. I’m glad. I might be friendly with most of our class, but I only have so many close friends. Penny and Agatha are...pretty much it.

And while I thought seeing Agatha might be awful, it’s really only a bit weird. I’ve had the summer to get used to the idea of not being her boyfriend anymore. As long as she doesn’t actually take up with Baz, it’ll be fine, and I don’t think she will. Not really. Penny says the whole holding-hands incident was probably just Agatha subconsciously trying to get me to break up with her, because she wasn’t happy with our relationship.

Doesn’t make me any less steamed at Baz, though. He’s been trying to pull my girlfriend for years, and then he goes and holds her fucking hands and leans in close enough that just the memory of it has my magic itching at my skin.

At the time, I barely had time to react before the Humdrum pulled me away.

Now I can’t stop thinking about how he never gets that close to anyone. (Especially me. I like to imagine it’s because I intimidate him, but really I think it’s just the cross.)

He even keeps his distance from Dev and Niall.

I wonder if that means anything. Probably that he doesn’t want to give anyone reason to believe my claims that he’s a vampire. Still, one day I’ll have undeniable proof, and they will anyway. This year, I’ll find it; I can feel it in my bones. This is the last year I’ll have the advantage of having him here, where I can find him, all the time. This year, I’m going to uncover his plot and expose him for what he really is.

But he isn’t around for me to watch, that day or the next.

The teachers all seem surprised when Baz isn’t in any of the classes we should be sharing (three this year - Magic Words, Political Science, and Normal Lit). I try asking Penny if she’s heard any gossip, but she says no one else cares enough to start any.

It’s the same the third day and the fourth.

I keep thinking I see him out of the corner of my eye in the halls and around the grounds. My gaze will catch on someone his height, or with long, dark hair like his, or who moves in a similar way.

(No one moves quite like Baz. He projects this perfect blend of intense energy and cool control. Like he knows exactly where he needs to be, and he thoroughly intends to arrive not one second earlier or later than planned, everyone else be damned.)

But no matter how many times I whip my head to the side, sure that _this_ time it has to be him, I’m never right. He’s never there.

By the time I get up to our (empty) room after dinner on the fifth day of classes, I don’t know what to do with myself. Baz has missed an entire week of school. Baz doesn’t miss classes. _Ever_. His entire family once took a vacation to somewhere tropical during fourth year, right after his dad got remarried, and he pitched an absolute fit and refused to go. I thought maybe it was about the whole stepmum thing, which seemed like rubbish to me, because I would’ve killed to have a mum of any kind. But then he went on a long rant about his he couldn’t miss a week of classes because he had to keep his first. And I believed him. He was always insufferable about that. (He still is.)

It would take something big to keep Baz away for this long. Something huge.

The Mage has been away, so I haven’t been able to ask him. Dev and Niall have been completely useless. I’m reduced to trying to think up scenarios, but I have no way of knowing which ones are the most likely.

(I decide the one where he’s secretly living in the Mage’s office, lying in wait, ready to kill the him when he returns is probably too far-fetched.)

(Okay, I sneak into the Mage’s office and confirm Baz isn’t there. But then I cross it off.)

Tonight, I message PitchStriker hoping for a distraction, and he’s good company for a while, but I can’t concentrate on our conversation. Finally, just before midnight, I tell him I’m going to sleep, but instead, I head down into the catacombs. I’ve been there dozens of times before, but it’s still creepy and dusty and nearly impossible to navigate. There’s no trace of Baz, that night or the next.

On Sunday night, I try the ramparts instead.

The wind is heavy when I get to the top, but I love it. I love looking all around Watford when it’s dark and peaceful like this. I love looking at the stars.

As I do just that, something catches my eye off by the Wavering Wood, but I don’t have my wand to cast **_larger than life_ ** for magical binoculars. (And even if I did, I still probably wouldn’t - I’d wind up making the trees twice their normal size or something.) All I can do is squint in that direction until my eyes blur, but I see nothing. It was probably just an animal, long gone.

I don’t know what I was hoping to find anyway.

After pacing for a while, I finally feel tired enough to go back to our room.

I’m about to lie down when an impulse strikes me, and I lean over and turn Baz’s pillow sideways.

He _hates_ it when I touch anything on his bed.

I cast a quick, wary glance at the door, but nothing happens. (What do I think, he’s suddenly going to manifest just because I’ve touched his pillow? How thick am I?)

I look at my mobile once, but I have no new notifications.

So I stare at Baz’s bed again, and eventually, I drift off to sleep.

\--

The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is take a deep breath.

The second week of classes begins today, and I-

I take another breath.

And then another.

Is that-

It can’t be.

I definitely smell something posh and cedar-y.

I can hear our shower running.

I roll over, and I see his pillow turned the right way again.

Baz is back.

\--

I make it to breakfast in record time.

I don’t exactly run, but I walk fast enough that I’m panting a bit when I see Penny already seated in our spot. She beckons me over, which is excellent, because that means she’s made up a plate for me.

“Morni-”

“Baz is back,” I cut her off, sliding onto the seat beside her.

I grab one of the scones off the plate she has sitting at my spot. It’s perfectly warm, and I take a giant bite.

Heaven. I let myself take a moment to enjoy the tart flavor settling on my tongue. Merlin and Morgana, I’ve missed the food at Watford. It never gets old.

“Ah. How exciting,” Penny deadpans, taking another bite of her breakfast.

“Don’t you care?” I ask, spewing a couple crumbs. I should probably be embarrassed, but she’s used to it by now. I wash down the rest of the bite with a gulp of my tea. “He’s back! He wasn’t there when I went to bed, but he was in the shower when I woke up. Must’ve been the middle of the night.”

“Weird.”

She sounds bored, but it _is_ weird, so I point my half-eaten scone at her. “Exactly! Now I just have to figure out what he was plotting, so I’ll know how to counter it.” I slather a second scone with butter and take a bite. My leg jiggles under the table as I mentally rifle through the possibilities I’ve thought of.

Penny just looks at me.

“What?” I reach up a hand to my cheek. “Do I have butter on my face?”

“I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“What?” I ask again, shoving the rest of the scone in my mouth.

“You just look, I don’t know.” She pauses, contemplative. “Almost...happy.”

I actually stop chewing for a second and stare at her.

I swallow, and the bite goes down hard, and I start coughing and have to chug half a cup of tea before I can stop wheezing.

Finally, I shove the cup aside and turn to Penny, who is inspecting me with a very strange expression.

“I- Penny! You-” I have to stop and gather my words. “That’s the least clever thing you’ve ever said to me. Of _course_ I’m not happy he’s back! That’s- that’s _ridiculous_.”

She starts to speak, but I cut her off. “Am I happy he’s close by? Yeah. I can keep an eye on him this way. I can be ready for what he’s plotting. But am I happy to see the dickswab who broke up me and my girlfriend? The vampire who poses a threat to the _entire school_? I don’t fucking think so.”

“My mistake.” She takes a sip of her tea. “Maybe happy’s not the right word. Just thought you’d be tired of obsessing over Baz by now when he hasn’t actually done anything.”

I start to bluster again, and she holds up a hand. “I know, chimera and all that. But Simon, I’m talking about whatever Grand Plot you seem to think he’s concocting.”

“We know he wants to take the Mage down!”

“I don’t think it counts as a secret plot if you literally gave a speech about it in class.”

I scowl. “What are you, president of the Baz Fan Club now?”

“Of course not,” Penny frowns. “He’s a Tory git. I just...vampire or no, I think there might be better ways to spend your time. It’s our last year,” she says gently. “Maybe you should start thinking more about the future and less about Baz.”

“Baz _is_ my future!” It comes out louder than I intend, and several kids at the next table over turn to look at me. I lower my voice, heat creeping into my face. “One day I’ll have to face off against him, and I want to be prepared. I want to make sure no one gets hurt in the meantime. If I stop following him, he’ll get what he wants. He _wants_ me complacent. No one else will suspect until it’s too late.”

She **_clean as a whistle_ **s my scone crumbs from the table instead of answering.

I’m thinking of going to get another plate when she speaks again. “I’m done talking about Baz. New subject. I read a fascinating article yesterday about how infinitives affect-”

“Hi.”

I look up and blink in surprise. Agatha’s standing hesitantly in front of our table, opposite me, where she usually sits. She’s holding a plate loaded up with eggs and sausages, and the aroma makes my mouth water. It’s almost enough to distract me from the fact that this is the first time she’s actually spoken to me since we got back.

But I _am_ a civilized human most of the time (despite what Baz might say), so I grin up at her.

“Hey. Wanna sit?”  


She does.

I go grab some more food just to have something to do. When I return, I shovel it into my mouth like I haven’t eaten in a month. I’m grateful for Penny’s ability to chatter on about grammar, because the mood is definitely a little awkward.

I’m glad she isn’t avoiding me anymore, but I’m also not exactly sure what to say.

I certainly don’t want to talk about Baz with her.

Except maybe to warn her.

In fact, maybe I should.

I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, there’s a loud clatter as the doors fly open. My gaze flies to the doorway, knowing who it will be before I even see him.

Baz.

  


**BAZ**

 

When I arrive at Watford, the sun isn’t even out yet. But I have an iced coffee, and thank Merlin for it. Fiona unceremoniously dumps me, my bag, and my trunk off at the drawbridge, then speeds off with her music blaring. We both hold up middle fingers as a goodbye wave, and after her dust cloud settles, I head down the gravel path through the gates and past the guards, towards Mummers House. It feels good to stretch my leg after the three hour car ride.

I climb the spiral stairs to our room, my heavy trunk floating behind me weightless, thanks to a **_light as a feather_ **. Once at the top of the stairs, I welcome myself to room with a wave of my wand and quiet spell before the latch will open for me. There is a small hint of metal and smoke and a small dark red smudge on the stone where Snow marked his blood for the room to recognize him.

Part of me thinks he does this on purpose every year. After smearing his blood, the smell of it lingers for _weeks_ afterward. All I can taste is metal instead of the iced coffee still in my hand.

The door makes no noise when it opens, and none of my steps creak the floorboards, so I walk in to observe the sight in the morning silence. The window is open, and there’s already clothes and little empty bags of crisps on the floor. My lip curls up into a sneer after following the trail of things littering the floor to the occupied bed. In it, Snow is asleep with his blanket thrown off the foot of his bed, lying on his back, mouth half open and breathing.

I think about waking him with a shout, or punch, or kiss, but settle on just putting my things away with several flicks of my wand and quiet spells. My pillow is out of place, so I fix it and shoot a glare at the beautiful idiot sleeping across the room.

I collect my uniform and head into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. By the time I’m finished, Snow has left the room, and the sun is out. His clothes and rubbish are still all over the place. Wonderful. At least he didn’t touch my iced coffee, which I spell full, then take a long sip from the straw.

My eyes wander to the empty bed with its blankets left in a heap and trackie bottoms among the sheets. His pillow is lopsided and half caved in from being slept on.

I glance at the door and then out the window a moment before reaching for the pillow. The fabric is just cotton, but my brain tells me it’s soft when I lift it.

I’m pathetic. I acknowledge this, but I don’t put it down. Instead, I squeeze it and lean my face down into the white pillowcase and inhale slowly.

It smells just like I remember. It smells like Simon Snow.

Well, I guess that answers the lingering question if maybe I had rid myself of my disgusting crush on him over the summer. The video games did nothing, and neither did Pugs. (Not that Pugs was meant to be a replacement or even could ever come close. He’s no Simon.)

“What am I doing?” I ask myself, face still pushed into the pillow. “I’m being an fucking numpty, is what I’m doing.”

I toss the pillow back onto his bed, as if he’d ever notice it astray with the mess he always leaves. Putting Snow out of my mind, I finish getting ready before heading down the spiral staircase and making my way across the grounds to the dining hall.

Everyone seems to be there already for breakfast. Perfect. I’ll have a wonderful audience for my dramatic entrance.

Rucksack slung over my shoulder, with my iced coffee in one hand and wand in the other, I call, “ ** _Open sesame!_ **” and send the dining hall doors wide open with a gust of wind. (If I’m ever not being dramatic, please call the healers.)

Heads swivel, and I can feel all eyes on me; even the staff table has given me attention. Good.

 _Oh, look_ , a little voice inside me chimes. _Snow is standing up. Do I look like the Queen?_

Without even looking at him or anyone else, I head down the main aisle and take up my proper seat with Dev and Niall, setting my drink aside. “So, what did I miss, boys?” My voice is cool and relaxed, and they lean in to tell me that I’ve missed literally nothing. (Brilliant.)

It was worth the entrance, though. I spot Snow above the other heads, still standing and watching me with his stupidly beautiful freckled face. Another grin fixes itself upon my lips, and I resist the urge to wink at him. He probably believes me to be plotting, like he always does.

I mean, he’s not wrong. But for once my plots and plans aren’t exactly revolving around him. This year, I’m focusing on my eighth year spell. I don’t have time to be distracted by Fiona’s Mage fixation any more than absolutely necessary.

Breakfast passes quickly since I came in halfway through, and I’m making my way towards my first class of the term when I spot her.

Agatha.

“Wellbelove,” I say slowly as she stops right in front of me, clutching a notebook to her chest.

“Good morning, Baz.” She’s all smiles. I don’t know what to think of it, except that Snow isn’t attached to her side, so it seems suspicious. “Did you have a good holiday?”

I straighten just a little, the question so absolutely normal that it throws me for a loop.

I clear my throat. “Uh, yes. I did, thank you.”

She smiles even brighter, but it has no effect on me. “I’m glad to hear it. Maybe we could catch up about it later, yes?”

Once again she sends my thoughts spinning into left field.

Did Snow put her up to this? Did she _tell_ Snow?

I bristle and inhale sharply through my nose.

“Wellbelove-” I start before she cuts in.

“Agatha. You can call me Agatha, Baz.”

“Yes, uh, well- Agatha.” I clear my throat again and have to shift my weight off my recently injured leg. “About that...actually, about the end of last year--”

“Oh, no! Baz!” Her eyes widen, and she takes another step closer, peering up at me with overly large honey brown eyes. “It’s not like that. This has nothing to do with that. I don’t even care about that.”

Another seemingly throwaway sentence has my head reeling. “It’s not?” I ask daftly, blinking at her.

“Of course it’s not. I just want to see how your summer went is all. I promise.” She flashes another smile. If she were anything other than _she,_ I might think twice about that smile, but I don’t.

“Alright,” I drawl slowly. “Well. Maybe we can catch up about it later, then.” (Probably not. I get the feeling Snow has put her up to this, though she hasn’t listened to any of his harebrained schemes to get to me yet so...this is unprecedented.)

“Wonderful! See you around!” She’s already walking away towards a class we don’t share.

And then I spot Snow down the hall, who has probably been watching the whole thing. I sneer at him and adjust the bag on my shoulder before walking quickly past towards my first class.

The lesson is slow but easy. I hardly missed anything but the first few assignments, which I finish at least one before the bell rings. Second lesson is just as simple, all the teachers just the same in their long-winded explanations about the goblin wars or proper syntax in spell work or what-have-you. My mind isn’t in the classroom. I'm too busy reading into Wellbelove and Snow to pay attention, and before I know it, I'm sitting in third period, which I share with the blundering boy who refuses to get out of my head.

There’s no room to look at him, though. Not even a glance when he’s taken a seat so close, just two rows behind me. I can feel his eyes on me, and while it makes my dead heart beat just a tad faster, I ignore him and focus on the teacher. (Yes, that will piss him off the most.)

“Today,” Miss Possibelf, our Magic Words teacher, takes a breath from her spot at the front of the class. “We will be putting you together with your eighth year spell partners.”

I’m not the only one who rolls their eyes. But then I see Bunce who turns around in her seat, and I just _know_ she’s giving Snow that thumbs up of a glance...but then the professor goes on.

“In the past, this assignment has been given to individuals or pairs, but further back it was traditional that roommates were paired together for the spell. Not only do the proper words, pronunciation, and intent work within a spell, but sometimes it is a bond that is strong as the Crucible itself that pours more magic into a new spell. Which is why you will be pairing off with your roommates.”

Chaos erupts.

Bunce and Snow are on their feet, as am I and several other students. All of us are shouting in protest, but Miss Possibelf just stares blankly past us before raising her walking stick.

“ ** _Be seated!_ **” she call with a pinch of magic, and the lot of us obey immediately. “As I was saying, you will be partnering with your roommates for your eighth year spell. End of story.”

There’s another wave of groans, only slightly subdued, and everyone is glancing around. Even I look over my shoulder to scowl at Snow, who is unsurprisingly glaring daggers at me.

“And as such, your new seating arrangements will also be with your roommates. Now, up up! Get a move on!”

 _Alistair fucking Crowley._ I don't even have to look; I can just smell that Snow has moved to sit next to me. My skin bristles, and the scowl on my face hardens when I glance at him. But neither of us says anything as we’re given the packets of paper we’ll need to fill out in order to get full credit for our spells.

Just wonderful. My last year at Watford will be worse than all the others. Snow will be attached to my hip like an unwelcome weight. One half of me is breaking out into a sweat with glee and the other half is trying to murder the first.

Merlin, I need to hunt tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

**BAZ**

 

I spend the rest of the day ignoring Snow. It drives him mad; I can tell by the way he keeps running a hand through his hair every time he just so happens to come into my line of sight. (Good. He deserves it, the beautiful git.)

When dinner rolls around I’m hungry, but I sit there catching up on school work instead. I’ll eat later. Dev and Niall are talking about the football tryouts coming up soon, but I’m not really paying attention. My mind keeps wandering in and out of focus. I had to be up at three in the morning in order to get to Watford by sunup.

I yawn and check one of the clocks hanging around the dining hall. It’s nearly nine o’clock.

The moment dinner is over, I make a couple sandwiches from rolls and roast beef and wrap them in a cloth napkin that I put in my rucksack along with my homework before shuffling out with the last of the student body, heading for bed. I’m not going to Mummers House, though. I aim myself toward the never-locked doors of the White Chapel. Thankfully I don’t see Snow in front or behind me when I glance back from the doors.

Despite night having fallen and the lack of lanterns, I can see the hidden entrance to the catacombs just fine. I pull out a sandwich and eat it one bite at a time as I slowly make my way underground. It’s cool down in the depths, but the meat from dinner is still warm, which I’m glad for.

It isn’t until I’m done that I wash it all down with a couple of fat rats. It all settles a bit heavy in my stomach, so I sit and pull out my mobile to check it. I have several texts from Fiona that I continue to ignore before opening Discord. There’s several messages from PugsNotDrugs ranting about his roommate.

 

**(Today at 9:27 pm)**

**PitchStriker: I completely understand. My roommate is a bloody buffoon.**

**PitchStriker: Everytime he so much as breathes, I think about stabbing him.**

 

I’m underground by several feet, so it takes a few minutes for the messages to send, even with my phone lifted towards the low ceiling

I decide to fix that, and I’m climbing back up the steps when my phone vibrates.

 

**PugsNotDrugs: Lol!**

**PugsNotDrugs: other things going well tho?**

 

Once back up in the chapel, I slip into one of the pews and put a foot on the bench to stretch my still healing leg before replying.

 

**PitchStriker: Yes. Already have homework and team tryouts soon.**

 

**PugsNotDrugs: wish I had time for tryouts but my workload is too packed this year :(**

 

**PitchStriker: I honestly don’t have room for it, either. But if I don’t play this year, I won’t get another chance for a while, and I might go stir crazy being locked in the library or my room with my bloody roommate.**

 

That’s a bit of truth. Real truth. I really might go stir crazy this year if I don’t have an outlet without Snow attached to it. Not only do we have our eighth year spell to work on, but we have three total classes together: Magic Words, Political Science and Normal Literature. I don’t know whether I’ll end up killing him or kissing him by the end of the year.

This year will be the death of me. It honestly, truly, might be.

Maybe I’ll just set myself aflame and get it over with already.

To avoid letting the conversation get any more personal, I switch the subject over to football. After the better portion of an hour, I bid him a goodnight. I have homework to complete, and I am not doing it here in the White Chapel.

I ignore Snow when I get back to our room and shower. He’s pretending to be asleep by the time I get out and spell my towel dry. (I can tell by the way he breathes. Mouth breather.)

It’s been such a long day that I just want to lie down, but I take a seat my desk and work on the last few assignments I didn’t get to during dinner. Once I hear Snow’s breathing even out, I click the light off and crawl into my bed. I welcome sleep like an old friend.

 

\--

 

It doesn’t even take a full week of me being at Watford for Snow to start following me. He’s been tailing me between classes and after meals, scowling because I’ve let Agatha chat me up in the halls. I’ve caught on that Agatha and Snow are not together any longer. They sit together at meals and talk, but they don’t make lovey dovey eyes at each other, and I haven’t seen them hold hands or kiss since last year. (Thank fucking Crowley.)

I attempt to make a habit of slipping away after dinner to eat alone in the White Chapel, have a rat or two, and text Pugs about his day. It would be a good routine, I think.

But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

I’m sitting in a pew with my nose in a book I’ve brought from home when I hear someone come up the chapel steps. (It could and would only ever _be_ Snow.)

I send a quick glare over my shoulder when one of the front doors is pushed open and shove the last bite of food in my mouth. Turning away, I cover my mouth to finish chewing and take a drink from a cup of tea I stole from the dining hall earlier.

When I look back, I can see that Snow is just standing there with a hand on the brass handle. He doesn’t take a step inside, so the moon casts his shadow long over the mosaic tile flooring and benches. It makes the hair on the back of my neck bristle and my nostrils flare.

I have to will my fangs to recede before speaking so I don’t have a lisp. “What do you want, Snow?”

He just stares at me for what feels like too long, and then his brows knit. “Why were you late back to school?”

I blink at him and sling an arm over the back of the pew to get a better look. “That is none of your business.”

“It is my business,” he growls back at me. “You’re planning something, and that _is_ my business.”

“Oh, really?” I say before checking my tone. It comes out half amused and half curious. “And what exactly do you think it is I’m planning, hm?”

He shrugs.

“Such a riveting theory. Absolutely brilliant.” I lift the book from my lap and wave it at him teasingly. “I’m simply reading, at the moment. No plans, no plots. The whole villain thing is so fifth year, if you ask me.”

“You’re working on something. I know it.” He levels a glare at me.

“Goodnight, Snow,” I call with a sharp edge of annoyance and turn back around in my seat, so I can return to my book. “I’ll be up to tuck you in and read you a story soon.”

I want it to piss him off, and I am so glad it does.

He growls and slams the front door so hard I can hear it bounce back open. But he does leave.

I slip out my phone to check the time and see if I have any messages from Pugs, but when I don’t, I continue to read about focusing location spells with intent and vivid imagery. It hasn’t help much, obviously. Or I would have found what I’m looking for already.

With the golden boy following me, I haven’t been able to get any work done on this spell, the one I started at the beginning of the summer. Our family library is larger than the Watford’s, and I brought a few books back with me, but I’ll need to comb the library soon, because they aren’t helping me.

My phone vibrates on the bench next to me.

 

**(Today at 10:12 pm)**

**PugsNotDrugs: You ever want to punch someone just because they exist?**

 

**PitchStriker: Always. I will probably dedicate several chapters of my autobiography describing who and why and how I would punch them. Or kill them.**

 

**PugsNotDrugs: Omg**

**PugsNotDrugs: I don’t think i could actually hurt anyone but sometimes i can’t help but think it**

**PugsNotDrugs: You know?**

 

I pause and think about punching Snow. It would be so disgusting sweet to give him a bloody nose and then lick his face clean. (I’m disturbed, ask anyone.)

 

**PitchStriker: Yes. You’ve spoken to my very soul, Pugs. Welcome to my world, 24/7.**

 

\--

 

In Magic Words Miss Possibelf has us working on our eighth year spell in class twice a week. The first day, Snow and I just sat in silence, reading over the questions and requirements. But now we’re forced to actually talk, because every other group is talking.

I sigh and turn in my chair slightly to get a proper look at him. “Have you thought about anything we could do or a spell we could improve? Or have all your energies been put into following me around like a lost golden retriever?”

Snow’s whole body tenses, and he doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on his packet. I can practically see the wheels in his head turning for a witty retort.

“No,” he finally says. “I haven’t thought of one.” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and finally looks at me. “Have you?”

The corner of my mouth pulls down, and I fix my expression to bored. “Of course I have.” (Actually, Pugs gave me the idea when we talked about how boring his literature class the other night. He apparently thinks Shakespeare is overrated. I disagreed, but I couldn’t exactly launch into an explanation regarding Shakespeare's importance in the magickal community.)

“Yeah?” He seems to perk up, as if this is what he’s been waiting for all along.

“I was thinking we could work on ‘neither here nor there’ from Othello. We could use it to either make something disappear or have a couple of objects switch places with one another.” Either would work and cover all bases for the project.

Snow is just staring at me, mouth half open and tongue toying at his bottom lip.

I hate when he does this, so I scowl. “Unless you have a better idea, speak your peace, Snow.”

He flinches as if I might have put magic into my words. **Speak your peace** is a common little spell meant to get children to stop fibbing. It’s harmless, really.

“No. That’s okay. We could do that.” He gives in so easily, but he doesn’t relax whatsoever. He simply turns to his packet and writes down exactly what I’ve just said.

I do the same, and we fall back into silence for the rest of class.

Later, I skip tea and wander into the library. After a couple of hours, I find a handful of books on switching spells and vanishing spells, and a few others on location spells and a copy of Othello. I slip them all into my rucksack once I check no one’s watching and walk right out of the library. (Everyone takes books from the library. _Everyone_.)

I take them all back to our room, so I can pour over them later and then finally head to dinner.

Outside on the lawn I spot Agatha near one of the fountains. I don’t have time to duck behind other students or even turn around before she’s approaching me with her bright smile.

“Evening, Baz,” she chimes so casually, as if we’re friends.

“Agatha,” I say, and I dip my head to her in greeting and keep walking. She matches my steps and then begins to talk about absolutely nothing and ask simple questions about my day.

I don’t understand why she’s doing this. We aren’t friends. She never showed any real interest in me before she caught me feeding in the Wavering Wood at the end of last school year. I thought that would have scared her away, yet she persists.

I don’t ignore her, per se. She just chats at me, and I don’t yell at her to stop. I mostly nod and use one or two worded answers to satisfy her.

It’s odd. I don’t not like it, but I don’t put in any effort to contribute, either.

When we arrive at the dining hall, she simply breaks away from me with a quick, “Enjoy your dinner, Baz.” She goes off to sit with Bunce, and I go to sit with Niall and Dev. I see Simon finally drag himself in not a minute later and sit with the two girls. He’s staring at me, and I stare right back at him until my eyes get distracted by Agatha turning around. She waves at me and smiles.

I raise a hand and awkwardly wave back at her. The moment I realize what I’m doing, I stop, curl my hand into a fist, and scowl down at my empty plate before reaching to make myself a cup of tea.

 

**AGATHA**

  

I can tell Baz isn’t listening to me, not really.

I try to ask him how his classes are going, but all I get is a simple, “Fine.”

Which I guess _is_ fine. We may have grown up going to the same club and the same school, but we were never friends. Recently, we were closer to enemies, if only by association. I don’t expect that to change overnight.

Because for him, it probably seems like overnight.

It just isn’t for me.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time this summer thinking about him.

Not in a romantic sort of way. (I did go through a brief time last year thinking maybe I fancied him. He fits the dark and brooding cliché so well that it’s practically a rite of passage for the boy-fancying girls at Watford to have a Baz phase. But this summer, after a pep talk from Minty, I _finally_ worked up the nerve to break things off with Simon. After that, I was able to be honest with myself and admit the only appeal dating Baz held was that it was about as far from dating the Chosen One as I could get.)

But I thought about what it might be like, carrying that kind of huge, crushing secret. How hard it must be, having to hide your entire _being_ from the world, especially when the person you live with is hell-bent on exposing you. When you come from an Old Family whose motto is probably something like, “Bury your secrets six feet under.”

And I thought about how I found him feeding on a rabbit. Just a rabbit.

And how I’ve never seen him hurt another human being, other than his fights with Simon and a few scuffles on the football pitch.

And how scared he was, how desperate for me to understand, for me not to tell. I think that’s the first time since he was four years old that I’ve actually seen him being earnest.

(I kept my word - I haven’t told anyone, not even Simon. Not even my _diary_.)

And I just thought...he probably needs a friend. A proper friend, one he can confide in.

I didn’t think it would be easy, because I knew he could be a right arse. But now I’m also realizing I didn’t think through the plan entirely. I didn’t think about how my behavior would seem from his perspective. He probably thinks Simon is putting me up to it. Or, Morgana forbid, that I’m actually interested in dating him.

I _was_ a little overly nice the first time I tried to talk to him. The opportunity arose, and I was all smiles and, “Please, call me Agatha,” and he was so weirded out, it was hilarious.

Though I am a little annoyed at myself for brushing off the vampire thing and saying I don’t care about it, because I do. It’s probably the main reason I’m putting myself through what is, at this moment, quite the humiliating exercise. But I wanted him to understand that I wasn’t pretending the forest incident never happened - I wanted to talk to him anyway.

And I still do.

I just want to be his friend.

I want to stay Simon’s, too, though Merlin knows what he would say about this plan. He’d probably warn me to not to get too close to Baz, or I’ll be eaten, my blood-drained carcass strung up a flagpole in front of Pitch manor as some sort of gruesome _fuck you_ to the Mage.

(Simon really is dramatic when it comes to Baz.)

But I’m not concerned about that. (Well, not too much.) (I’ll be his friend, but I’m also not going on any wilderness camping trips alone with him. He _is_ both a vampire and a Pitch, and I’m not a complete numpty.)

“Enjoy your dinner, Baz,” I say to him now, before going to take a seat with Penny. I start making a plate, taking extra large helpings, so I’ll still have enough left when Simon takes some, which he inevitably will when he appears.

Penny says nothing when I sit but offers me the pot of tea. Simon sits just as I start to pour, so I make one for him, too.

He’s staring across at Baz when I go to hand it to him, and when I turn to look, I see Baz staring back. I wave at him, and oddly enough, he waves back and then goes about his business.

I turn back to Simon who’s looking at me now, confused, half a sandwich already in his mouth.

“What was that?” he chokes out.

“What was what?” I ask, cutting my own sandwich in half before taking a bite.

“ _That!_ ” he almost barks.

“I just waved at him, Simon. It got him to stop staring, didn’t it?”

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz is a mystery this year.

I mean, he’s always a mystery. He’s a mysterious bloke. He exudes mystery so intensely, they should make a cologne that smells like him, bottle it, and sell it as Mysterious Wanker.

Wait, Crowley, no.

The point is, I’m used to being able to work out his secrets.

(At least, some of them.)

(The main one counts as at least five.)

But I can’t seem to do it this time. He’s holding onto a million secrets I can’t work out, and it’s driving me mental.

I’m used to not knowing things. Baz does it to me. The Mage does it to me. My own parents, whoever they were, did it to me.

Hell, I do it to myself - make lists of things I know but am not allowed to think about.

But when I’m trying to solve a mystery, and I can’t? It’s like a sickness. It becomes an itch under my skin that grows day by day until I suss it out.

And so far, Baz has evaded me entirely.

 

**Things About Baz That I Need To Figure Out Before I Go Bloody Mad**

 

****1) Baz and Agatha.** **

 

It started the very first day he was back. Agatha had gone right up to him, grinning like they were old chums. My first instinct had been to throw myself in between and stare Baz down until he moved away.

But I didn’t want to make Agatha uncomfortable, because judging from her smile, she was perfectly happy to be talking to him.

That split second of hesitation was enough for me to catch Baz’s reaction, which was thoroughly and completely confused. (If you didn’t spend as much watching him as I did, you might not have noticed, because on the surface, he looked unruffled and fucking poised as ever. But I saw.)

That was enough to convince me he hadn’t put her under some sort of thrall, but I still watched them.

In case of danger.

And because I was curious. She had said over the summer that she wasn’t breaking up with me for Baz, but who knew?

But the conversation was short, the interest almost entirely one-sided. When she turned to walk away, Baz went straight to his classroom without even glancing in her direction.

(I know because I followed him all the way there. I thought he didn’t notice, but right before he stepped in, he suddenly whirled around and raised a brow. “Lost, Snow? Need me to call Bunce to walk you to class?” I just growled at him, and he smirked and turned away. I had to run to get to my own class on time.)

He’s been back two weeks now, and I’ve seen them several times. Agatha talks and smiles, but you’d think Baz didn’t want her at all. Where’s the Baz who sent her all those bloody brooding Heathcliff looks while we were together?

I don’t know what the fuck is going on with him. Or with her. She seems friendly, but not in a “I want you to be my new boyfriend” sort of way. They haven’t so much as brushed shoulders since the Wavering Wood, because Agatha always stays a friendly distance. (Thank Merlin. I’m the only one who should get that close to Baz. I know how to defend myself.)

I’m staring him down across the dining hall, now.

Penny is saying something at my side, but I don’t hear her. All my energy is going toward holding eye contact with Baz, narrowing my eyes, making sure he knows that I will figure this out. I will figure everything out. He won’t win.

(The upside to this method is that it doesn’t require us to exchange words, because I always lose when there are words involved. Also, that I can still eat while doing it.)

But then Agatha catches us staring and turns back to Baz and waves, and... _Baz waves back_?

And I’ve never seen him wave in my life.

“What was that?” I choke out in surprise.

It’s the closest I’ve come to asking her about it. I haven’t come up with a way that doesn’t sound like I’m being a jealous boyfriend. I’ve had Penny try to ask her, to warn her, but Agatha just plays clueless.

“I just waved at him, Simon. It got him to stop staring, didn’t it?”

It did. He isn’t looking at either of us any longer.

Somehow that’s worse.

 

**2) Baz’s Secret Eighth Year Spell**

 

Baz thinks I’m an idiot.

He has, of course, made this abundantly clear over the course of our delightful years as roommates.

But he proves it today when he leaves a stack of books about location spells on his desk when he goes to football practice. Just leaves them in plain view, probably thinks I won’t notice them, that I’ll assume they’re for homework.

But I’ve followed him enough by now to know his class schedule.

The only class these could _possibly_ be for would be Advanced Mathematical Theory in Magic, so I pull out my mobile to text Penny.

 

**(18:18) S: are you guys studying location spells in adv maths?**

 

**(18:20) P: No.**

 

**(18:20) S: are you going to?**

 

**(18:21) P: Let me check the syllabus.**

**(18:24) P: It doesn’t say we will be. Why?**

 

**(18:24) S: no reason. thanks**

 

I tuck my mobile back into my sock drawer. (I asked Penny, and she said that’s where everyone hides them. The prefects - at least, the cool ones - always conveniently “forget” to check there.)

I try to do my homework for a bit, but I can’t concentrate on my essay about Dickensian spells right now.

The books have to be for his secret eighth year spell.

I started to suspect almost immediately that he was working on one, and not only because he’s been bragging about being ready to make his own spell since third year.

I expected him to take over our project and barely let me near it, but instead, he can’t be arsed to work on it at all. He refuses to talk about it outside of class, and when we’re there, he speaks to me as little as possible. He’s the one that picked the spell for us to work on, but he mostly just sits there, poring over books, and sighs at me any time I dare to interrupt him.

And there’s no way Baz would leave his grade up to _me_.

He’s going to leave me to royally fuck this one up. Then he’ll reveal his brilliant spell at the end of the year, and the professors will be so impressed that they won’t even care that we didn’t work together on it like we were supposed to.

They probably all know I’d just be an empty name anyway. Everyone knows this assignment, the most important one you get in all your years at Watford, is everything I dread. I have so much power I can make lights flicker on without words and sprout fucking _wings_ from my back, but even after years of practicing until my eyes cross, I’m still shite at anything that requires precision.

(How the fuck am I supposed to be a proper Chosen One when I can’t even-)

I dial back those thoughts and concentrate on Baz.

What would he need a location spell for? It’s clearly for something he wants to keep a secret for me. Otherwise, why not just make it our combined eighth year spell project and make me do the tiniest, least important work possible? Even just filling out the forms we have to turn in to Miss Possibelf. It’s not like I could ruin a spell that doesn’t even exist yet.

It’s the fact that he’s hiding it that makes me suspicious.

Maybe he wants to find the Humdrum?

But that makes no sense. It’s not like the Humdrum is something you could team up with.

Though Baz probably would if he could. The thought of the Old Families and the Humdrum taking up together against me and the Mage…

I shudder at the thought.

I manage to force my concentration onto my essay eventually, and I even jot down a few lines. Just as I’m really getting into it, the door opens, and Baz appears.

I stand immediately, but Baz ignores me, going straight to his wardrobe to get clean clothes.

I hate when he ignores me.

Admittedly, I hate when he talks to me, too. Normally I prefer the igoring. But right now, I have something to say.

“What are those books for?” I ask in the most intimidating voice I can manage, a throaty growl that would have any normal person pissing themself.

Baz barely even acknowledges that I’ve spoken. He continues gathering his clothes, drapes them over one arm, and then finally answers, “What books?”

“Those.” I point to the stack on the desk, the one that’s been taunting me for nearly two hours.

“They’re for class, Snow,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to explain astrophysics to a small child. “I know you’re thick, but surely you haven’t gotten to eighth year without understanding the concept of homework.”

“Sod off. And they’re not. I know your schedule.”

“They’re for maths.”

“Penny says location spells aren’t on the syllabus.”

“They aren’t.”

“Wh- You just said-” I hate that he just said two completely opposite things like they’re supposed to make sense, and somehow, _he’s_ the one standing there, looking superior. Looking down at his (slightly crooked) nose at me.

I hate that his height means he can always do that.

(One day I’m going to remember to be strategic about this and confront him while I’m standing on the stairs. On the bottom one. I’ve no desire to be pushed down a full set again. That was bloody miserable; I had bruises all over for weeks.)

“Doing a bit of independent study. Are you familiar with Gwydion’s Theory?”

He knows I’m not. I don’t even know if it’s real or something he’s made up. He would. The git.

“Ah. Perhaps a bit over your head, then,” he says in mock sympathy, moving toward the shower, and he shuts the door before I can reply.

I growl at him anyway. He can probably hear through the door with his vampire senses.

I pretend it’s as good as getting the last word.

 

**3) Where Baz Was This Summer**

 

I still don’t know what he was doing this summer that made him late.

I’ve asked everyone from the Mage (on a rare day when I actually saw him) to a first year I heard was a distant cousin of Baz’s father (she was scared of me, even though I tried my best to be nice. Penny cheered her up with a lolly she magicked up, though, so all was well).

I have, of course, asked Baz. Multiple times. He just says it’s none of my business.

(He’s wrong.)

 

**4) Why Baz Is Limping**

 

I don’t ask him this one.

I know there’s no way he’ll tell me.

I noticed it the day he came back, as I watched him walking away from Agatha. (I probably would have noticed it in the dining hall when he first appeared, but I couldn’t seem to stop staring at his face. Like I was afraid he would disappear if I looked away.)

It hasn’t gotten any better. He’s pretty good at hiding it when he’s walking around the halls between classes, but by the time he’s back in the room after football practice, he’s practically dragging his leg along behind him.

I won’t ask.

But I’ll wonder.

 

**5) How Baz Smells So Good**

 

This has absolutely nothing to do with anything.

I should move onto the next one.

(What is it, though? Soap? Aftershave? Cologne? I’ve never been able to figure it out, because he keeps his things locked away in the cabinet, and I’ve always been afraid to go snooping through them to find out.)

 

**6) Fuck This List**

 

Enough about Baz.

I yank open the door and pound down the stairs. I’m getting some blokes together, and we’re going to play football until I’m so tired I won’t even remember how to spell Baz’s name.

(His nickname, that is. Him and his bloody secrets, I’m still not entirely sure how to spell his real one.)


	4. Chapter 4

**SIMON**

 

Before I know it, we’ve been back at school a month, and I’ve mostly settled into a routine: go to class, keep an eye on Baz, hang out with Penny (and sometimes Agatha), and text Striker.

I don’t have any missions from the Mage this year, because I’ve barely even seen him. Other than the first day when he was greeting all the new arrivals, he’s only been back two or three times. 

“Where do you think he goes?” Agatha asks one unusually sunny October morning while we’re at breakfast, eyeing the Mage up at the staff table.

He just returned from one of his mysterious trips, and he’s sitting at the large staff table all alone, in a particularly foul mood. When he sat down, I tried waving to him, but he didn’t even acknowledge me. Just scowled and started shoveling food in his mouth, still scowling.

It’s disconcerting. I don’t think even Baz has mastered frowning that deeply while he chews.

(Maybe he has. I haven’t actually seen him eat a full meal in ages. He sometimes does this whole production with putting food on a plate and pushing it around and maybe eating a few vegetables, but I discovered in fifth year that he does most of his eating either in the catacombs or in the room while I’m not there. Or while I’m asleep, in the case of the mysterious salt and vinegar crisps that he always denies eating.)

“Actually, I think I might have an answer to that,” says Penny, leaning in close, her voice only a hint above a whisper. “Mum called last night for our weekly catch-up. She says he searched the Wallington’s mansion last week. He put out feelers, and they volunteered, said they wanted to help him defeat the Humdrum and all that. But I guess he left after telling them they had nothing of that would be of any help...but yesterday, they discovered that one of their family heirlooms had been drained of its power.”

I frown. “What? How?”

That’s not even possible, as far as I know.

“They don’t know. It was rare, the kind of artifact that actually holds own innate power. So strong you could sense it, even though you couldn’t use it. It was so bonded to its original owner that it has refused to work with any of her descendants for hundreds of years.” Penny’s voice lowers even more, to where I can barely hear her. “But now it’s completely dead. Dried up. Like a magickal vampire just came along and sucked away its life.”

“And you think the Mage did it?” Agatha asks, her eyes wide.

I draw back, letting my fork hit my plate with a clatter. “There’s no way,” I begin, my voice louder than I intend, and Penny shushes me, her eyes wide.

I concede to lower my voice, but I will not be quiet about this. Something might be up with the Mage, but this is too far.

“He wouldn’t-”

“ _ Aaaah! _ ” 

My defence of the Mage is cut short when a shrill scream pierces the air. I’m on my feet, calling for my sword before I even fully process that I’m doing it.

I look around the room for the source of the horrible noise, and my gaze catches on a little girl, the one I accidentally frightened asking about Baz. She’s pale as a ghost, pointing out the window.

The older girl beside her gasps and jumps to her feet. “Is that a  _ dragon _ ?”

My jaw drops at the words.

Surely not. The Humdrum never repeats himself.

But I have to face it, whatever creature the Humdrum has sent this time (hopefully one with significantly less fire involved). I immediately start toward the door at a jog.

Dozens of voices are raised in confusion, and when I turn toward the Mage, I see him marching toward the entrance, his hand on his sword as well.

We both rush to get outdoors to see, and I really hope it isn’t a real dragon. I don’t know what I’ll do if it is.

  
  


**BAZ**

  
  


I actually got up when Snow did this morning, so I could head to breakfast and get some reading done. (Hiding my face behind my book usually works just fine at breakfast, when everyone is half asleep.)

It’s way too early for this, though. First the Mage comes to breakfast for the first time in  _ years, _ and then the slow and calm morning is pierced by shrieks about a fucking  _ dragon _ .

I lock my gaze on Snow, who’s already called the sword of Mages to him and makes for the exit quickly. The Mage isn’t far behind him, quickly passing him up to throw open the doors. The moment both of them disappear outside and the doors swing closed, everything dissolves into absolute chaos. Bunce and Agatha get to their feet, and before I know it, I stand with my book forgotten. 

The Mage is going to have his stupidly loyal heir probably kill the damn thing like he did our first year. Why is that his base instinct? Snow doesn’t  _ have  _ to kill it, and I know for a fact he doesn’t  _ enjoy _ it either.

I don’t know what prompts me to check (yes, I do), but I glance over at the empty table where Snow had been sitting, and...I was right. He forgot his bloody wand. He’s going to get himself killed.

But he’s already gone, and it would be a waste of time to grab it for him.

With that thought I’m fully awake and on high alert and bolting for the doors, wand out of my sleeve and focused.

  
  


**SIMON**

  
  


I slam to a halt right next to the Mage, just outside the doors, and I see it.

It  _ is  _ a dragon.

A real, fire-breathing dragon, and I can’t tell what color it is because of the sun glaring down, but I can see it’s fucking  _ huge _ . 

There’s a gigantic monster hurtling my way and terrified shouting coming from the room behind me, and all I can think is: this isn’t supposed to happen. The Humdrum hasn’t ever sent the same thing more than once, and he sent a dragon my first year. I was only able to defeat it with Penny’s help, and neither of us ever figured out how we did it. I just know I had nightmares for weeks.

But I feel the tell-tale dry static almost as soon as I have the thought, and I know it’s him. (What else would it be when dragons don’t naturally come anywhere near Watford?)

“Simon!” The Mage barks out. “You take the dragon. Penny! Agatha!” I turn and realize they’re right behind me.

And so is Baz.

I’m taken aback for a moment by that. All the other students are either panicking at their tables or crowding around the window where they can see from a safe distance. We’re the only ones at the doors. 

“Get those littluns somewhere safe!” The Mage continues speaking to the girls, pointing to a group of first years over by the White Chapel, all huddled together and screaming.

I rush into the courtyard with my sword at my side, and as I get to the bottom of the slight incline, I have a flash of my wand. Sitting at the breakfast table. Useless.

Fuck.

It’s not like I’d have used it anyway, though. I grip my sword more tightly, my palm sweaty but sure. If there’s one magical thing I know how to use, it’s the Sword of Mages.

Besides, I’ll have magical backup for spells. I hear footsteps, so the Mage must be right behind-

But he isn’t. I slide to a stop, almost toppling over.

The Mage isn’t behind me. And is isn’t in front of the doors anymore.

He’s disappeared completely.

But Baz is still with me.

“The fuck’re you doing Snow, come  _ on _ !” he shouts, passing me, and I have the completely unimportant realization that his limp has almost completely healed.

I don’t have time to think through my approach. My feet propel me forward, toward the dragon, even though I have no idea what I’m going to do. I’ll just have to go for the jugular, I guess. Either that, or go off. Those are my go-tos for everything the Humdrum sends.

The thought makes me want to  _ weep _ , because it isn’t the dragon’s fault. It wouldn’t be attacking without the Humdrum telling it to.

Almost as though it can hear my thoughts, the dragon lets loose its first wave of bright orange flame. I hear the faint  _ whoosh _ of the fire, but it’s still much too far above us to do any damage, even to the buildings.

It’s circling lower, though, and Baz and I are going to make the perfect targets.

It’s too far away. My sword is useless.

I should’ve grabbed my wand.

At least I could have done  _ something _ .

Instead, I’m just standing here like a numpty while Baz shouts spells.

“ **_Go away! On the road again!”_ **

The dragon still circles the courtyard, drawing ever lower. The only good news is that I don’t know if it has spotted us yet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Penny and Agatha herding the last first years into the White Chapel, then disappearing in behind them. I breathe a sigh of relief.

The stone buildings aren’t going to burn, not unless the dragon puts some serious effort into it, and I won’t let that happen. As long as everyone stays indoors, they’ll be safe.

Baz and I will just have to make sure not to run for the Wavering Wood if we have to move. We should go toward the front gates instead.

But when I turn to tell him this, I see him.

Baz.

Who’s a fucking vampire.

Who’s  _ flammable _ .

“ _ Baz _ !” I bellow, and he meets my gaze for a split second, then turns back to the dragon and fires off another spell that has seemingly no effect.

“Go back inside! I’ve got this!” I shout over the roar of the dragon.

“You don’t even have your wand!”

“I’m not the one who’s  _ fucking  _ flammable!”

He has to go back inside. He has to. I can face this alone. 

“If I don’t turn her away, we’ll both be dead!”

“I can survive some burns-”

“Shut  _ up _ and let me concentrate!” he growls, gritting his teeth and sending off a  **_turn around bright eyes_ ** that does nothing. 

The dragon makes another circle, lowering slightly closer.

“Baz!” I try once more, and I want to tear my hair out and I want to get him out of here, and most of all, I just want this dragon  _ gone _ . It - she, I guess, Baz would know - shoots out another wave of fire, and this time it’s close enough that I can feel the heat. That isn’t the only heat I feel; I can feel my magic building, burning, impatient for an outlet.

“I just have to send her home! She doesn’t want to be here!”

The dragon snorts dark smoke from her nostrils, still circling, and then suddenly she changes course and dives right toward us, jaws hinging open wide.

And I can’t do anything and my sword is useless and Baz’s wand arm is shaking and I just want to help and I don’t want to die and I don’t want him to die and I just have to  _ help _ him somehow, and suddenly I’m reaching out and I don’t even know why. I put my hand on his shoulder and think about making whatever he wants to happen, happen. I try to imagine us as one person, taking what’s mine and giving it to him, even though I know - I  _ know _ \- that is absolutely not possible. But it feels like the right thing to do somehow, like this might be an option other than going off, like maybe I could actually  _ do _ something instead of just exploding like a bomb made to be discarded and-

“ **_Shields up!_ ** ” Baz commands, and I  _ feel _ the pull on my magic, and a translucent bubble appears.

I’ve seen this spell. Penny tried it once, last year. We thought it would be good for this exact purpose, to protect against the creatures the Humdrum sends. It’s supposed to create a small shell around the caster, to protect them from any possible form of damage. It’s soundproof, waterproof, fireproof, bulletproof, but thin enough to see through. It’s an extremely advanced spell because of the sheer number of elements it incorporates.

I was there when she tried it, and she could barely manage a bubble big enough to protect her ring hand.

And the one Baz just cast takes up half the courtyard.

Which is completely, utterly impossible (as impossible as the fact that I think I just  _ helped _ him. I helped another magician with my magic. I helped  _ Baz _ .), but I don’t have time to think about it, because the bubble is so large that  _ the dragon is inside it, too _ .

“Fucking hell,” I growl under my breath as I crouch into fighting stance.

The dragon is close enough that I can see her dark emerald scales, close enough that she could end us both in one flame-laden breath.

I grip my sword in one hand and Baz’s shoulder in the other, probably bruising him, but I won’t let go.

This time, I don’t wait for him to cast. I just  _ push _ , and I feel my magic go into him, and he’s opening his mouth to speak, but suddenly I hear words.

And not in Baz’s voice.

The voice is...deep. And resonant, echoing inside my skull. Smooth and ancient and powerful, dry lightning on a summer’s day.

“ _ A rabid wolf whose hungry eyes are too wide. _ ”

I can’t tell if the voice is coming from the dragon or from inside my head, and I don’t know what it means. Baz is frozen in place, speechless, like he’s hearing the same thing I am.

“ _ Run, run, but you cannot hide. _ ”

What the  _ fuck _ .

  
  


**BAZ**

  
  


I taste smoke, thick and green, and I gasp at the realization that I can feel Snow’s magic. Not on my skin like when he blurs around the edges before going off. 

I can feel it  _ inside _ me. It’s bouncing around my chest and stomach, and it’s warm like the sun.

Crowley, I can feel everything.

Snow’s hand on my shoulder, the grass, the trees, space and time.  _ Everything _ .

And then I hear a voice that isn’t Simon’s. It isn’t like anything I’ve ever heard. 

My eyes fix on the dragon. She’s staring  _ directly  _ at me.

“ _ Hidden in the rabbit’s den _ .”

My eyes go wide, and I inhale sharply.

“ _ In flame and blood, in speckled stars and skin _ .”

My stomach drops, and I can feel a panicked pressure take hold in my chest.

  
  


**PENELOPE**

  
  


We’ve got the first years inside the White Chapel by the time a shield goes up - a massive shield, far bigger than any I’ve ever seen. I can see Simon and Baz at the center of it, their backs turned to me.

And the dragon trapped inside with them. 

I think I scream before I start running, making a mad dash for the lawn. Agatha’s right beside me and shouting for both of them to do something,  _ anything _ .

I can’t see much from behind, but Baz stands, wand half raised in a defence stance, and Simon holding onto his shoulder, also poised for battle. I wonder for a second if Baz got blasted by the dragon or if he charged in front of Simon to protect him. Both of them are just standing there. Because of the shield, I can’t hear anything, but I’m still having kittens and banging on the bubble as hard as I can.

Nothing happens. The shield holds true.

And then I see the dragon turn, wings beating, rising to fly away. 

Suddenly I’m falling forward when the shield disappears, stumbling a few feet before I start sprinting towards them.

“Simon!” My voice cracks when I yell. 

My legs hurt and so do my lungs, but I don’t stop until I collide with Simon. I bury my face in his chest, smashing my glasses into my nose, but I don’t care. I just thank Merlin he’s alive.

“Simon! Baz!” Agatha shouts. She's right here with me. I can feel her arm on my shoulder, and then it moves away. “Are you two okay? Alistair almighty, are you two  _ okay _ ?”

  
  


**AGATHA**

  
  


I’m almost out of breath but somehow still talking. I touch Simon’s arm and then his face, and he looks at me. His blue eyes are so wide, and his tawny skin has gone pale like he’s seen a ghost.

I mean, he did just fight off a dragon, didn’t he? Well, I didn’t see him fight the thing, but it’s gone now, and thank Morgana.

I let him go when he wraps his arms around Penny, who’s sobbing into his chest, and then turn to Baz, who’s frozen in place.

“Baz,” I call to him, grabbing for the sleeve of his blazer. His breath keeps hitching, and he doesn’t blink. “Hey!” I yank on his sleeve now to get his attention, and it works.

He looks at me, the cool grey eyes like a storm raging in thought and so far off.

“It’s okay,” I try to reassure him. “The dragon’s gone. You guys did it.”

Baz doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t do anything. It’s freaking me out more than the dragon did. I have the odd urge to fling my arms around his neck, but I just grab for his hand and hold it between both of mine instead.

He doesn’t jerk away; he’s too much checked out for that. 

“It’s okay,” I say again and squeeze his hand. “It’s okay.”

  
  


**BAZ**

  
  


Even though Agatha’s gentle gesture brings me back down to earth, her words couldn’t be more wrong. Nothing feels okay.

I squeeze her hand back absently, because it feels like the thing to do, and look up at Simon who’s staring right back at me. I can clearly see what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking it, too.

_ What the fuck just happened? _

  
  
  


**THE MAGE**

  
  


After sending Simon off to deal with the dragon and the girls to get those first years to safety, I spelled myself to the top of Weeping Tower. It was a great spot to watch, and yet highly disappointing.

Simon and the Pitch brat got into a spat that I couldn’t quite hear from up high, and then the shield went up before I could determine which spell would magnify their voices but not the dragon’s roars.

I held my breath when the dragon landed in front of Simon.

But then nothing  _ happened _ .

Simon didn’t try to attack with his sword, and he didn’t go off. They just stood there, facing down the dragon together, until the bubble dropped, and it turned and flew away.

Now I frown and spell myself safely down from the top of the tower, a glance to the north confirming that the dragon is already nearly out of view. I’m disappointed he didn’t kill the beast. (Both the dragon and the filthy walking corpse.)

Down on the lawn, I stride right to Simon and clap an arm on his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the girls and Pitch boy.

“Well done, Simon,” I congratulate him. He needs at least  _ some _ positive reinforcement. “That was a most excellent use of a shield spell. By trapping the dragon in with you, you protected the school. That was brave.”

The boy turns his blue eyes to me, and then he opens and closes his mouth a few times before speaking. “T-Thank you, sir. I didn’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

“Of course you didn’t, Simon.” I pat his shoulder twice and then lower my hand. “I see that you’ve repelled the beast. What spell did you use?”

Miss Bunce and Miss Wellbelove look to Simon. He just stands there, half dazed and blinking.

“ **_Turn around bright eyes_ ** , sir,” I hear the other one pipe in, and I turn my gaze to him. He nods once and then looks to Simon. “That was the spell that did it, wasn’t it? Or was it the verse from On the Road Again?”

Simon snaps to attention and nods vigorously. “Yes! I think... I don’t know which one it was, but it worked. I got it to leave.”

I give one quick, sharp nod and allow myself to smile at him. “Brilliant. We’ll discuss this later. Right now, let’s get those first years out of the chapel and into class, shall we?” Clapping a hand on Simon’s shoulder once more, I pull him away from the others and lead him towards the White Chapel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you who've left comments and kudos! We hope you're enjoying reading this story half as much as we're enjoying writing it! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**BAZ**

I watch the Mage lead Snow away and stare after him.

He’s left me standing there, half the universe slowly leaking out my chest and brain still buzzing from direct contact with the sun. There’s a lingering taste of smoke in my mouth that I don't want to forget. I think my shoulder might be bruised or burned, I have no idea, but the pain tells me it's real.

Snow tries to glance back at me, but the Mage leads him into the chapel.

Whatever the fuck just happened, I should probably  talk to him about it. The dragon, what we heard. His magic was _inside_ me. It still is, though I can feel it waning now.

Agatha squeezes my hand and I’m brought back to the present. I look down at her and then at Bunce, who’s watching me curiously.

“Thank you, Agatha.” I say and mean it.

I give her hand a little squeeze back, then let go to rub the still-warm spot where Snow’s hand once gripped me.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Baz?”

“Yes.”

That’s a lie. I can’t stop the rolling chills that linger under my skin, and I've put the taste of his smoke to memory. It amazes me that the rest of the day carries on as normal. Everyone seems to have moved on from this morning.

All but Snow and myself.

We don’t talk in any of our classes, but I do catch him staring at me several times. And when I do, it causes my shoulder to ache dully. (Yes, I did get a bruise. I checked between classes. A Simon Snow-sized dark bloch imprinted on my shoulder and the top of my collar bone. And I can’t stop idly touching it.)

I can’t stop replaying the whole morning in my mind, either.

I can hear is the dragon’s voice echoing in my head, clear as a bell but haunting enough to make my chest tighten.

“ _Hidden in the rabbit’s den_ \- _In flame and blood, in speckled stars and skin_.”

I can’t place why it frightened me so much. (That's a lie. _In flame and blood_ is how it all ends, isn't it?) Just because I know it's coming doesn't mean I'm not still frightened, and it leaves me thinking in my seat after class, eyes unfocused and far beyond the pages of my book.

“Baz?”

_Snow._

I snap the book shut and stand, shoving it in my rucksack without even looking at him.

“I just wanted to ask you about what happened.” He says, but I’m already frowning and glaring at anywhere _but_ him. “Baz, please. I just want to know if it was--"

“It was nothing, Snow. Leave me alone,” I growl. I’m not ready to talk about this, it’s only been a few hours.

He doesn’t back down and steps in front of me, face red and arms out blocking me down at the end of a long row of desks. And then he does that thing where he juts out his lower jaw and fixes me with a hard stare that I can’t seem to look away from.

“Baz,” he grates out. “It _was_ something, and you know it.”

“Yes, Snow. It was _impossible_ and dangerous and bloody stupid.” I swallow dryly, and my shoulder aches.

Maintaining eye contact with him is difficult, wiith the memory of his magic opened up inside my veins and thrumming through me.

“We shoul--” he starts but I hold up a hand to silence him.

“The only thing we should be doing is going to tea. All your precious scones will be gone, and Bunce’ll send a search party for you if you don’t get there soon.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but I forcibly slide past him and adjust the bag over my shoulder once I’m out the door.

-

In the days following the dragon incident, Agatha has taken to walking with me in the halls more frequently. She genuinely seems to want to know if I’m okay or if I want to talk about it. (I tell her I’m okay, and that there’s nothing _to_ talk about.) She continues to talk about small stuff, and I continue to listen and occasionally answer with my own pleasantries in return.

I’m beginning to think she really just wants to be my friend. It’s an odd thought, but one that I catch myself considering briefly when I see her move away to sit with Bunce and Snow at dinner.

I can’t help but look at Snow after I take my seat across the hall. Old habits never die.

Something warm coils in my gut when Snow meets my gaze at the exact same moment. As often as he claims I can read minds (I can’t), I find he always seems to be looking at me when I’m thinking about him.

I pointedly break the eye contact and look down while making myself a plate. Once it’s full and I have a cup of tea, I stand and head for the chapel, where I eat alone and drain several rats before heading back to Mummers House.

It's empty when I get there, thank Merlin.

I change into night clothes and climb into bed, and send Pugs a slew of messages about absolutely nothing. I just follow Agatha’s pattern of small talk, but nothing elicits a response from him. I just want the distraction so I don’t have to think about the dragon and what she said, or Snow and how the bruise on my shoulder is still discolored and sore when I think about him. (It’s sore now, damnit.)

As if the very thought has summoned him, I can hear Snow shuffle his way up the stairs of the tower. He hesitates a moment before opening the door and coming in. I ignore him by not even glancing up from my phone before I shove it under my pillow. I’m already half under covers, and to make the message clear that I’m not in the mood to have human interaction, I bury myself under the comforters all the way to my nose and roll towards the wall, so I don’t have to look at him.

For once, Snow doesn’t try to push me. I hear him go into the bathroom and shower, and then ready himself for the night. He shuts off the light, opens a window, and then throws himself down onto his bed.

I wait for who knows how long before I dare to roll over and look at him in the dark. I already know he’s still awake, his breathing isn’t quite even enough. He’s also staring at my side of the room but not _at_ me per say.

I wonder what he’s thinking about.

I wonder if the dragon’s words are still ringing in his ears like they are in mine. I wonder if he’s been holding back just how frightening it was to face down such a magical creature. (For Crowley’s sake, it still blows me away he does that _willingly_ , sometimes multiple times a year, and this is his _second_ dragon, and all at the Mage’s request.)

I wonder if he’s going to get any sleep tonight. I can practically hear him thinking, the wheels in his brain turning and grinding against one another.

I don’t know how long we face one another in silence. I just can’t stop myself from watching him. I really can’t.

Eventually he shifts onto his back, and it’s just a small relief for me.

His profile isn’t nearly as intense to look at, only half the sun is shining then. But an eclipse is still bright enough to blind me.

I need to stop wondering and start asking him, or at this rate I won't get any sleep, either.

I take a slow, deep breath.

“Snow,” I whisper so quietly I’m not sure if I even hear myself. But he hears me.

He turns to look me right in the eyes, and I shiver, whether it’s from his gaze or the open window, I don’t know.

“What the hell was that?” I ask softly, and it hangs heavy in the air between us.

I close my eyes where I can clearly picture the lawn, the dragon, Snow’s hand on my shoulder, the taste of smoke on my tongue, and the overwhelming sense of power running through me until it’s blanketed by the panic of the dragon’s words again. I shudder and pull the blankets closer around me.

“I-I don’t know,” he finally whispers back. “I’ve never had that happen before. I-I’ve never...”

He trails off and breaks eye contact to look up at the ceiling. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath and can finally breathe when he looks away.

“Never?” I blink at him. It's not like I've ever been invited on one of his adventures; it's usually just him and Bunce. The whole thing with the chimera doesn’t count. (I can't even recall a time the Mage went with him. He usually just sends Snow off like an obedient dog. Disgusting.)

“You’ve never had a creature speak to you?”

“What? No, of course not.” He sighs. Both hands come up to cover his face and scrub at it a moment. “I’ve never shared my magic before, either. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You can't, Snow. It’s impossible.” But he achieved the impossible. With me.

My skin prickles, and I inhale the memory of smoke.

“No, it’s not.” He rolls over to look at me again, and my breath catches.

The moon comes out from behind the clouds just then. His bronze curls are slowly growing back in, and they’re tangled beautifully around his face in the moonlight.

 _“We_ did it.” He runs a hand through his hair and pulls at it a few times when he continues to speak. “Somehow.. I don’t know how, though. That’s what I wanted to ask you about. I want to know if it’s a fluke. I’ve never done that before, and it scared me.”

I don’t say anything to that. Because he’s shocked me with unashamed honesty.

And because it scared me too.

Admittedly, I am curious if it was a fluke, too. I've never heard of or read of magicians sharing magic between one another. Ever. (Alistair almighty, if _anyone_ could do that, a war between mages would start and never end.)

War _is_ going on, though. Three, actually.

The war against the Humdrum, one between the Mage and the Old Families, and the one between Snow and  me.

I sigh internally and wish things could be different.

 _It doesn’t have to end in flames_ , I wish desperately. It's a silent prayer, but one I know will never be answered. Not in the way I want it.

"It probably was a fluke, Snow. You went off in a controlled manner, for _once_." I bite the last word and it makes him grimace.

The room goes quiet again, but we don't stop looking at one another. Snow looks like he's either having an internal battle or about to shout at me.

  


**SIMON**

  


“Would you want to, uh,” I instinctively reach up to rub the back of my neck, but my pillow is in the way, so it’s more of an awkward arm flail before I let it flop back down to the bed. “Try it again?”

I have no idea what he’s going to say. He hated the idea so much the other day, but he was freaking out. We both were. But he’s had time to calm down now, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

He’s silent for such a long time that I think maybe he won’t say anything at all. Maybe we’ll just go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and pretend this conversation never happened.

I hope not.

I hope he agrees. I want it so badly that I’m holding my breath, my chest tight. I exhale slowly.

This could...this could change everything. I know it could be dangerous, that it _will_ be dangerous. If it works, it will be a massive secret to carry around. But I can keep secrets. I would only tell Penny and the Mage, and the Mage would be able to help me find the right person to team up with, someone he trusts. I could actually use my magic for good - use it in ways that would be helpful instead of just _going off_. If I can do it with Baz, surely I must be able to do it with other people. I think about what Miss Possibelf said at the beginning of the year, about how part of the criteria The Crucible uses when deciding roommates is magical compatibility.

All I would have to do is find another person whose magic is compatible with mine. One who’s not an evil vampire and my sworn enemy.

But I can’t let myself think about it. Not until I know it will work again, that it wasn’t just a fluke.

(Please, please don’t just be a fluke.)

I’m about to explode from impatience when I finally hear him say, “Yes.”

It’s quiet but definitive.

He immediately sits up, and I match him. We’re facing each other in the moonlight, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, suddenly nervous. Now that he’s agreed, I’m not sure how to go about it.

“Well?” he prompts, raising a brow.

“I guess you, should, uh. Get your wand?” I suggest.

“That would be the logical first step,” he says with a heavy dose of sarcasm, and I roll my eyes, silently grateful for the return to our normal dynamic.

“Sod off,” I return mildly. “Come on, let’s do this.” I slide out of bed, and the floorboards are cool on my feet. I am suddenly, uncomfortably aware that I’m shirtless. I never wear a shirt to bed, but I’m going to be _touching Baz_ , and it just feels like it would maybe make the whole thing less awkward if I were to put on a shirt. But maybe it would be weird if I did? Maybe I’m making too big of a deal of this-

I see Baz’s eyes drop briefly to the cross around my neck, and that makes the decision for me. I want him to notice it. I want him to know that I know what he is, that we may be cooperating right now, but he’s never going to catch me off guard.

I leave my shirt off and go to meet him, standing square in the middle of the room.

I clear my throat. “So, uh...”

Baz sighs deeply, annoyed, and I narrow my eyes at him.

He’s such a _natural_ git. He doesn’t even have to work at it, I swear.

“I thought we might try it with some small spells? Like **see what I mean** or, y’know. First, second year stuff.”

I expect him to say something like, _Finally admitting those are more your level_ , but he just nods.

“Should I grab your shoulder again?” I ask, stepping forward to put my hand on his shoulder, but he shuffles away immediately.

“Crowley, no. Just grab my hand or something. Try not to crush it this time, will you?”

He extends a hand toward me, and I take it in one of mine. His skin is cool beneath my touch, even though I know he went hunting before bed.

Merlin and Morgana, we’re actually going to do this.

“Ready?”

“I was ready five minutes ago, Snow. Just do your thing already.”

I close my eyes and concentrate on _pushing_ , just the tiniest bit I can imagine.

I open one eye.

“Okay?”

He nods.

I push a little more.

“Can you feel it?”

He nods again.

“Just say something if it’s too much, okay?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I will.”

I shut my eyes again and imagine I’m listening to The Who, and I turn up the volume slowly until it’s on full blast.

I look at him again, and he’s breathing deeply, slowly inhaling through his nose, eyes shut tight. Is that good? Bad? “Do you feel like you could cast something now?”

His eyes pop open and meet mine, and he laughs.

 _Laughs_.

Over the years I’ve heard him cackle. Chuckle evilly. Snort derisively.

But never _laugh._

“Yeah, I think I could manage,” he says, but it’s too breathless to be properly sarcastic.

He aims his wand at my side of the room. “ ** _A place for everything, and everything in its place_ ** **.** ”

Immediately, the mess on my side of the room rights itself. Socks fly to the hamper, the phone that had been lying by my pillow plops neatly into my sock drawer, and even my pencil rolls until it’s in the middle of my desk, aligned perfectly with the edge.

(It likely would have worked on his side as well, but it’s so pristine, there’s nothing to be put away.)

Of course the first thing he does is to clean up. What a nerd.

An evil nerd.

But still.

I meet his gaze and raise my eyebrows in question.

Instead of answering, he just turns away, keeping his hand clasped with mine.

He casts **_clean as a whistle_ ** on my trainers (which are now neatly lined up under the bed), and the dirt flies off them and out the window, just as it should.

I’m almost giddy. It’s working. It’s _working._ I can feel the pull every time he casts, and it’s doing everything it should.

“It works.” I can’t hold back a grin.

He keeps his face turned away from me, but I think he might be smiling, too.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

“It feels...wrong.”

 _Oh_. My grin drops, and I jerk my hand away from his.

I almost smack myself in the head. What if I’m hurting him? Just because he’s not in physical pain, just because he can stand it, doesn’t mean I’m not messing him up in some other way. What if I’m hurting his magic? Crowley, what if I _ruin_ him? What if I burn him from the inside out like I accidentally did with the dragon in first year? What if he can’t cast magic anymore because of me?  

 _Good_ , a logical side of my brain tries to say, but I still feel sick.

I open my mouth, but before I can think of anything to say, he continues, “It feels wrong to use this on such small spells.”

I blink.

He turns toward me, and I was right.

He’s _smiling_.

If I thought hearing Baz laugh was weird, seeing Baz smile a real smile is a whole new world. It’s like his face morphs into a completely different person. Not a surly, snarling, evil vampire.

Just a boy.

A regular boy.

Snakes alive, I don’t know what’s happening.

“So I’m not hurting you?” I ask, just to be sure. Not because I’m concerned about him, necessarily, but because I want to know in case I ever try this on someone else. Someone I care about more.

He shakes his head slowly, side to side.

“What does it...what does it feel like?”

He looks away, his smile fading into a thoughtful expression, and I miss it already. I liked that Baz.

(What the hell kind of thought is that? I can’t afford to _like_ Baz. We can’t be friends. Just because he’s a vampire that can smile - he’s still a vampire. If I’d looked more closely, I probably could have seen his fangs.)

“When I cast a spell, usually, it’s like lighting a match. When you do...whatever it is you do,” he pauses, searching for the right words. “It’s like you take the match and flick it into barrel of petrol. Like I could power all of England, and still have some left over to spell your shoes to the floor.”

It’s such a perfectly Baz thing to say, but there’s not an ounce of cruelty in his tone. I think he’s...joking? With me? I don’t know what to do with this. He almost seems drunk.

So I don’t reply, and he speaks again. “This is what you feel like all the time?” he asks, looking down at my hand, now hanging awkwardly down at my side, no longer clasping his. He shakes his head. “No wonder you’re a mess.”

“That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

I don’t know whether I’m being sarcastic or not. I don’t know anything right now. Maybe that’s why I say it.

“Can you- can you see if you can take it?”

“What?”

“I’m going to keep ahold of your hand, and I want you to see if you can take it, when I’m not letting you.”

This is a stupid idea. A _great bloody stupid idea_. But I have to know. If people could just take my magic, I would wind up in an eternal sleeping curse somewhere, being used to power a nuclear war or something. And that’s only until someone kills me.

(If Baz can take my magic, he might be the first one in line. For both.)

“Okay.”

He looks like he’s concentrating, but I don’t feel anything.

“Are you doing it now?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t feel anything.”

“Me either.”

“Try harder?”

Another long moment passes, but nothing happens.

 _Thank fuck_.

A huge wave of relief crashes over me, and I hurry to the next question, hoping that he won’t grow bored or uncooperative or, well, _Baz_ about it.

“Can you do it?”

Baz sighs, exasperated. “I just tried for _two minutes_. We’re not wasting any more time on this. Be happy that I can’t steal away all your magic while you’re sleeping, and move on.”

“You couldn’t anyway,” I say stubbornly. “Anathema.”

“That only stops me from hurting you. This wouldn’t qualify.”

 _“Stealing my magic_ isn’t hurting me?”

“Guess we’ll never know, will we?”

I growl at him. “Can you push yours into me?”

Baz makes a slight choking sound, and I frown. Is he laughing?  Probably. He’s always laughing at at me.

(Not a real laugh, not like earlier.)

“This isn’t a joke.”

He grimaces. “Oh, trust me, Snow. I’m more than aware.”

“So, can you try? Pushing your magic?”

“Is that what it’s like for you? Pushing?”

I shrug. “At first. Then it was just more like...opening.”

“Huh. Let me try.”

He closes his eyes, and I just look at him. There, barefoot, in pajamas in our room in the moonlight.

I’m very aware of my hand, still clasped in his, worried I’m going to start sweating soon. Agatha always hated my when my palms got sweaty. (She never said so out loud - she’s too nice for that. But I could see her grimace.) I guess a high point of holding hands (well, hand) with a vampire is that his skin is cool. I try to focus on where our fingers meet, to stay sensitive, to feel for anything that might be a trace of magic other than my own. But I don’t feel anything.

He opens his eyes, and I’m jolted out of my train of thought.

“Anything?”

“Nope.”

“Unsurprising. What you’re doing...” He stops, shaking his head slightly to himself. “It’s impossible.”

I didn’t think he would be able to do it, either, but now we know all the possibilities for certain.

All but one.

Which is possibly the strangest idea I’ve had.

But last night, Penny had gone off on one of her magical tangents about circles and cycles, and I’d tuned out halfway through. Because all of the sudden I started thinking...if Baz could use my magic once it’s combined with his, then why couldn’t I?

“Are you up for one more idea?”

He tries to glower at me, but his face doesn’t quite make it. I think he’s still a little high off my magic.

“I want to...try something. But I’ll need your other hand.”

He doesn’t comply immediately. Just watches me for a couple seconds. Then he tucks his wand away up his sleeve (of _course_ he has a spot for it, even in his ruddy pajamas).

And suddenly I’m holding both of Baz’s hands, staring up at him in the darkness of our room.

I hate that he’s taller than I am. And probably always will be. Wanker.

I keep my thoughts focused on that, so I’m not so nervous when I pull. Just the smallest, slightest bit. I just want to know if I can do it. I could never try on someone I care about, and Baz would murder me, Anathema or not, if he knew what I was trying.

I get nothing, so I pull harder, to absolutely no avail.

I refuse to think about the wave of relief that crashes through me.

Insead, I do what I’ve wanted to ever since it occurred to me.

I _push_ my magic into him for several seconds, and I hear him inhale immediately, deep and slow.

And then I _pull._

Not on his magic. But on my own that I can sense within him, there and waiting for me.

And suddenly, I’m filling with light. I’m _made_ of light.

I keep doing it, pushing my magic into him, letting it flow through him, and pulling it back into myself. Completing the circuit. It’s like he’s a filter that removes all the static, all the itchiness. When the magic comes back into me, it’s bright and smooth and elastic and ready to work _with me_ instead of fighting me. My insides aren’t at war with my very being. They’re all in harmony and I don’t know what’s _happening,_ but I’m breathing deeply and fully and it’s like I never knew what magic truly felt like before.

I love magic. I do.

But this is the first time I’ve ever felt magic love me back.

“What’re you doing?” Baz asks.

Jolting back to reality, I open my eyes, blinking, and his are as wide as my own.

“I don’t know.” My words come out a whisper, and I laugh, giddy. “Is this okay?”

He grasps my hands tighter. “Yeah.”

“Can you feel that?”

“Your magic? Yeah. I can always feel it. You’re impossible to ignore, Snow.”

“So’re you,” I slur back at him, full of magic. I keep going and going until I’m filled, and for once, I’m not a volcano, about to explode.

I’m made of stars. I’m a million miles above the earth. I’m weightless vapor and endless energy and enough light to shine for a thousand years.

I feel my feet leave the ground, and it feels so right, I almost don’t even notice.

I’m floating free, no part of my being attached to anything, except my hands, clasped tightly within Baz’s, anchoring me.

It occurs to me that this shouldn’t happen. That my feet are supposed to be touching the ground. That some part of me should be.

But I open my eyes, and we’re still in our room.

We’re just…floating.

Baz looks like he did earlier. Awed and slightly giddy and he isn’t quite smiling again, but he isn’t _not_ , and he just looks like an average bloke who’s floating in the air with me, holding my hands and staring into my eyes, because I can’t seem to look away. I can’t believe this is _happening._ I’m drunk on my own magic and Baz is here with me and we’re floating together, and this feels like an alternate reality except that I’m very aware that it’s all real.

The star has gone supernova in my chest.

I’m so full it’s almost like when I’m about to go off, except it’s nothing like that. The magic inside of me is _mine_ and it’s not going anywhere, not unless I want it to. I almost wish I had my wand, but I also don’t, because I don’t want to use any of it up. I want this feeling to last forever.

Baz’s eyes are closed, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He must be feeling this, too, some effect of the way our magic combines. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt - like perfect balance, like everything inside me is in harmony. Baz opens his eyes, and I feel like I need to say something. I don’t even know what. Words are in my throat, bubbling to the surface, but suddenly his eyes are darting off to the side, toward our window.

“Oi, is that- That’s a _merwolf._ Aleister Crowley, _Snow!”_

That breaks the trance I’d been in. I look away from Baz for the first time, and I can see all our things floating with us. There are shoes and pencils and books hovering all around. I look out the window to see what Baz saw, and I find a merwolf. Floating. About fifty feet above where merwolves should be.

Oh, _shit._

  


**BAZ**

  


I may be high off Snow's magic, but at least I have enough wits about me to realize that a merwolf _shouldn_ 't be floating like we are. If a merwolf is dangling fifty feet in the air, what's happening to the rest of Mummers House?

I let go of Snow’s left hand to pull my wand free from my sleeve and call, " ** _Down to earth!_ **"

_Mistake._

Everything plummets to the floor. The beds and wardrobes drop soundly, all the clothes and books scatter over every surface. One of the lamps from our desks has turned itself on and casts a ray of light across the mess that our room has become.

Snow falls on top of me, and we knock foreheads sharply.

I groan when the buzzing inside my chest is briefly replaced by sheer pain and hiss because that _fucking cross_ around his neck touches my cheek. Quickly, I grab Snow by the shoulders and push him up just enough to get the damn thing away from me. It dangles from around his neck just inches from me nose, taunting me.

That's when I remember he's not wearing a shirt, his warm tawny skin against my cold hands. That our legs are tangled, his stomach on top of mine, his weight pressing down against me. I curse having fed earlier because a _genuine_ blush begins to crawl up from under my collar towards my neck and ears. (Among _other_ reactions.)

My eyes go wide when he groans, holding his head in one hand with the other planted on the ground beside my head.

"Get off me, you bloody idiot!" I growl, scrambling backwards until I'm out from under him, and I don’t stop until my back is again his disheveled bed, knees drawn to my chest. I’m panting from the effort, or from panic.

Definitely panic.

"Fuck," he groans down to the wood floor. "I didn't do that on purpose."

I know he didn't, but that doesnt stop my heart from pounding into my ribs. His magic is still inside me, swimming around and buzzing off my skin. I'm still drunk, but now I'm too fucking terrified to move or speak.

So I don't do anything.

I _can’t_ do anything.

All I can do is watch Snow rub his head and sit himself up right on the floor, resting on his knees in such a way the lamp light catches his bronze curls and turns them strawberry blond.

My heart leaps into my throat and causes me to choke.

I fucking hate him when he does this. He can't help it, I know, but I feel like it's a damn slap in the face when he’s so fucking beautiful and so untouchable.

He catches me staring at him, his mouth half open and still rubbing at his forehead.

"You alright?" He asks. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

For just a moment he sounds genuinely concerned, but then I have to go and ruin it. Because I _have_ to.

“Only when you fell on me, you giant tit!” I say through gritted teeth, feigning pain on my forehead.

The only real pain I feel is the loss of his touch and weight, and my cheek still stings. _Stupid cross._

All concern Snow had is suddenly gone, brows pulling together, and his sunshine face clouds angrily.

“Hey,” a voice from on the other side of our bedroom door cuts through the growing tension in the room. “Are you two okay?”

It’s Gareth. _Fuck_.

“Yes!” The two of call as one, eyes wide on the door.

“Oh...we heard a loud bang. Just…just making sure you two are okay in there.”

Snow darts his gaze around the room, as do I. My mattress is hanging half off the bedframe, and one of the desks is toppled over, drawer contents spilled everywhere.

I snap back to reality before Snow can and call out, “Yes, we’re fine. Snow just fell out of bed, the idiot.”

Thank Merlin Snow follows my lead, even if he glares daggers at me while doing so.

“Yeah, just had a tussle with my blankets and fell.” He looks pained to tell an embarrassing lie. _Good_. That makes it infinitely easier for me to calm down. “Sorry to’ve woken you and Rhys.”

“S’alright. Just checking.” There’s a pause but I can hear him retreating down the steps. “G’night.”

There’s a collective sigh of relief between the two of us once Gareth’s footsteps fade away. The silence sits so heavily in the air that I can hear the door below us open and close.

"Thank fucking Crowley, he's gone." I sigh, sagging against the bed behind me.

Snow runs both hands over his face a couple times and then tangles them in his hair.

"I fell out of my _bed_?" He groans, smiling stupidly.

"After a tussle with your blanket, Snow. Don't you remember?" I flash him a grin, once again joking with him, and chuckle until it turns into a laugh. I can't help. Thank Morgana Gareth came when he did.

The laughter throws Snow for yet another loop and he blinks at me a few times before laughing himself. It feels good, this. Whatever it is.

He ends up on his back staring at the ceiling while I'm trying my best not to look at him when the laughter turns to a quiet stillness. And for once, it’s not heavy.

There's a pause before he speaks again.

"We should clean this up, shouldn't we?"

I hum and reach for his trainers to line up under his bed, and then throw his pillows back onto his mattress. He’s grabbing books and taking them to my desk, he fixes my mattress for me and aligns the bed frame as quietly he can. We clean in silence, Snow’s desk the only thing I magick back into place. I flick my wand at it, careful to set it down gently before replacing the fallen lamp. I leave the light on and adjust it to line up with the wood grain.

Snow is the first of us to speak.

“You know, I just don’t get it.” he sounds frustrated, and for once it doesn’t sound like it’s because of me. “ _A rabid wolf whose hungry eyes are too wide - Run, run, but you cannot hide._ ”

I’m frozen, hands on the lamp stem. My heart is pounding again, and the lingering buzz of Snow’s magic hums loudly in my ears.

“What?” I whisper, turning to look at him. He’s staring at me with the strap of my rucksack in his hands.

“Y’know, what the dragon said. I don’t get it.” He shrugs.

I frown. “That’s not what the dragon said.”

His chin juts out “It is so. I wrote it down.”

I meet his gaze, and he’s dead serious, the light mood from earlier completely gone. “I’m not trying to be antagonistic. I’m serious. She said something completely different to me.”

His blue eyes light up and he takes a step closer, hands wringing the straps of my bag. “What did _you_ hear?”

 _“Hidden in the rabbit’s den_ \- _In flame and blood, in speckled stars and skin_.”

Now he frowns, too. Confused and tilting his head.

“What does that mean?”

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. This is a bigger mystery than I realized.

“What does _any_ of it mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Simon's Birthday, everyone! Have a scone, blow out some candles, and enjoy some gay panic, on us!


	6. Chapter 6

**SIMON**  


“What does _any_ of it mean?”

I can’t get Baz’s words out of my head the next day. The swirl around and around, mixing with the dragon’s.

_Hidden in the rabbit’s den,_

_In flame and blood, in speckled stars and skin._

_A rabid wolf whose hungry eyes are too wide._

_Run, run, but you cannot hide._

What _does_ any of it mean?

Why is there a wolf? What is he hungry for? Me? The rabbit? Are the prophecies connected? 

If anyone else had heard anything, maybe I would know. A dragon who somehow delivered a bunch of different prophecies simultaneously would be _weird_ , but at least we would be sure. I doubt fifty different prophecies could all be about the same thing. (I don’t think there are even that many about me.) But Penny would have told me if she had heard anything, and she was the closest. 

Still, I need to ask her. Just to make sure.

The perfect opportunity arises in the afternoon, between classes and tea, when Penny and I are alone in my room.

(She had barged into my room several minutes before with possibly the longest sentence in the history of magekind: “Trixie’s being extra Trixie and I’ll have to murder her if I stay in that room any longer and the boy with that awful cologne is in the library again and I can’t breathe and don’t tell me Baz could show up ‘cause I know he has practice for at least another hour.”)

I listen to her flip through pages and mutter to herself while I pretend to read Shakespeare and really just think about how I’m going to ask her. Eventually, I just decide to start. If I keep putting it off, Baz will get back and ruin everything.

(I think he’s already figured out that she visits, but him suspecting is worlds different than him actually catching her up here.)

“So, uh. During the dragon attack,” I start.

Penny looks up from her book and meets my gaze.

“Did you hear anything weird?” I continue.

Her brow furrows. “Like what?”

“Y’know. Weird.”

“I heard the screams. I heard the dragon until the shield blocked it.”

“What from the dragon?”

She makes a face at me. “Roars? Flames?”

I worry the inside of my cheek with my teeth.

“But nothing after that?”

She shakes her head. “That spell’s soundproof. Nothing gets through it. Which reminds me, now that you’ve had time to think about it, do you remember how it happened?”

Penny had cornered me as soon as I escaped the Mage, asked even more questions than he had. But I answered them all the same as I had with him. It was easy. _I don’t know_ worked for...pretty much everything.

Because I didn’t know. I still don’t. 

But I know more than I did last night. I know that it wasn’t a fluke, that this is something I can _do_. I just don’t know how. Or why.

But I know I can, and that’s why I’m going to tell her about the magic sharing, too. Because I need to know more, and she can help. And because I trust her with my life. I tell her everything. And it’s time to come clean about this.

“Yeah. I did it.”

“Wait, really?” 

I nod, and immediately, her book slams down on the desk, and she vaults over and flops cross-legged onto my bed across from me. (She only misses my feet because I fling them over near the opposite edge just in time.)

“How? Tell me everything! It’s only supposed to get big enough to cover the caster. _Maybe_ one other person if you’re powerful enough. I’ve been trying all week, and I _still_ can’t do it. I know you have a shit ton of power Si, but a shield that big-” she waves her hands in the air, eyes bulging. “Great snakes, it should be _impossible_.” 

I nod. “I know.”

“Was it like, you know...” she mimes a pair of wings, clearly referencing our escape from the Humdrum last year.

“No. It was different.”

She frowns. “But how? You didn’t have your wand.” She pauses. “Did Baz cast it? But you said...” she looks at me to finish the thought, and here we go. It’s time to tell her.

I blow out a breath, and she watches me, her eyes intensely curious behind her glasses.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Baz did cast it. But I helped.”

Her brow crinkles even further. “What do you mean?”

I rub the back of my neck, and when I speak, my voice is barely above a whisper. I know this is the most private place we could be, but I still can’t help but feel like someone is going to overhear. “I mean, instead of going off, I took my magic, and I...gave it to him.”

Penny blinks. Once. Twice.

“ _What?!”_

I flinch at her yelp and gesture at her to keep it down. I don’t know if Rhys or Gareth are downstairs. They’re pretty chill blokes, but Penny really could get in serious trouble if they found out she was up here and let it slip.

Slowly, I walk her through the whole thing, from seeing the dragon to when the Mage dragged me off afterward, when all I wanted was to stay with Baz and try to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Penny is uncharacteristically silent through the whole thing. I think this is the first time I’ve shocked her into actually being unable to speak for a significant period of time.

So I keep talking. “We tried it. Again. Last night. I don’t think he wanted to, but I- but anyway. It worked again. So it wasn’t a fluke. This is...something I can do. Even though I _know_ it shouldn’t be possible.”

_What’s wrong with me, Penny?_

I don’t ask that bit out loud.

I barely allow myself to think it.

I’ve been specifically avoiding thinking it for days. It’s one thing to be able to “skip the words” and do spells. I’ve always just thought of that as sort of convenience, like magic getting fed up with my shitty wandwork and pronunciation and just letting me jump past that bit.

But I’m in my eighth year of studying magic. I might not be an expert, but I know enough. None of this, what I’ve done with Baz, should even be in the same _realm_ as possible.

“Try it with me,” is the first thing Penny says after she finishes processing. She grabs my hands roughly, pulling them into her lap.

It doesn’t work.

I try, because I’m curious and because if I can do this with Penny, it will be a million times less complicated than doing it with Baz. We can go back to pretending that it never happened.

But it doesn’t work.

The second I give the tiniest push, I leave her with a horrid burn. Using her ring, she **_get well soon_** s it, and the burn is gone immediately, only seconds after it appeared.

But I still feel ill, and ten minutes later, I still can’t get the sight of it out of my head.

Why does nothing work like I want it to? Why can I only share magic with my worst enemy instead of my best friend? Why do I always wind up hurting people?

I shove these questions away into my Don’t Think About It box and slam the lid tightly. It won’t help. I can’t do it with Penny. Full stop. Move on.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and it’s probably the fourth time, but I can’t seem to stop it coming out again. 

Penny sighs, exasperated. “It’s alright, Simon. I told you, I don’t even feel it anymore.” She reaches over to grab my hand. I flinch, but she holds tight anyway. She doesn’t say anything, just sits there, holding my hand, until I calm down.

Finally, she asks. “Did it make a noise?”

“Did what?”

“When you did _this_. With Baz. You asked if I heard anything.”

“Oh. No. That was the other weird thing. Weirder.”

Penny’s eyebrows shoot up so high they practically meld with her hairline.

“Weirder than something _literally no one has been able to do ever_?”

“Apparently I’m talented.”

She chuckles, shifting a foot to shove against my calf. “That you are. Now, spill.”

“We. I-” I clear my throat. “Baz and I heard something. The dragon spoke to us. Not out loud, in our heads. And she said two different things. But she must have said them at the same time, because she was only there for a few seconds. And...that’s the other thing. I didn’t send her away, and Baz didn’t either. As soon as she finished with the messages, she just turned around and flew off. Like her job was done and she needed to be on her way.”

Penny’s jaw drops.

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

\--

We spend all of our free time the next several days buried in library books. In our rooms, in the dining hall, in the library itself. Well, Penny does. I spend most of my time with her, but I still take a bit to keep tabs on Baz. For once, Penny understands, now that he’s carrying around this fucking huge secret that could destroy me. She waves me away after I finish with tea, her nose stuck in _A History of Dragonkind_. (It’s a miracle she even found it in the library, but luckily, Normals have a thing for dragons, so they still publish books about them.)

I’m not actually going to trail Baz right now. I know he went to the library earlier, and he’s probably still there. But the thought of sitting longer and looking at books makes me want to hack at something with my sword. Possibly the books.

Instead, I walk aimlessly for a while, eventually winding up at Mummers House. I trek up the tower and throw myself onto the bed.

Just as I’m contemplating how long I can wait before going back to Penny, my mobile buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out, and when I read the notification from Striker, I’m so startled that I actually laugh out loud.

I guess I’m just surprised. We chat every couple days usually, but about annoying teachers or food or my (according to him) horrid taste in football teams. He’s never personal, and this...definitely is.

 

**(Today at 4:38pm)**

**PitchStriker: You ever see a bloke so beautiful you want to punch him?**

 

I open Discord and read the message again, and then I laugh, because what does that even mean? I’m not exactly sure how to respond, but we’ve reached the point of friendship where we frequently give each other shit, so I stick with that.

 

**PugsNotDrugs: ...not sure that’s how that’s supposed to go there, mate**

 

He starts typing back immediately.

 

**PitchStriker: It works in my head.**

 

I go for a question this time. Not _too_ personal, but I leave it open, because it seems like maybe he actually wants to talk. It’s not our usual thing, but I get it: that need to talk about someone, because you feel like you’ll burst if you keep it all inside.

 

**PugsNotDrugs: you sure you want to punch him?**

 

At first, I’m not sure he’s going to answer. The ellipsis doesn’t appear for almost a minute, and I nearly set my phone aside.

But then the messages roll in, one after another. 

And now I’m the one not responding.

 

**PitchStriker: I want to hit him.**

**PitchStriker: Then snog the breath out of him.**

**PitchStriker: But mostly I just REALLY want to hit him.**

 

I feel like I just got the breath punched out of _me_. I read the latest messages three times in a row. Four. Now I am breathing, but it’s too fast. My heart is pounding, too.

I shake my head at myself. What the fuck? I’m not a homophobe, so I don’t know what the hell my problem is. So my friend is gay. So what? 

Quickly, I fire off a response. I don’t want him to think this changes anything, so I default to giving him a hard time, hoping to make him laugh.

 

**PugsNotDrugs: i mean i understand that bit. I think about hitting my roommate all the time. But I’m p sure its not cause i want to kiss him**

 

Too late, after I send it, I realize that maybe it will come off as insensitive. I don’t know. I don’t _have_ these conversations. Not even with Agatha. We barely ever talked about feelings. We just held hands when we were supposed to and kissed when we wanted to, and it _worked_.

His response arrives quickly, and it’s short and to the point.

 

**PitchStriker: Lucky you.**

 

I feel like the world’s biggest twat. Should I apologize? Or will that just make things weirder? 

I should apologize. 

I start typing, not sure what I’m going to say, but then his status turns red. Not even grey, like he closed out of the app. He intentionally changed it to “busy.”

 _Fuck_.

I pause, backspace, and then keep typing anyway. He might not want to see this now, but when he’s ready, I want him to know everything’s fine.

 

**PugsNotDrugs: sorry that was supposed to be funny. :/ i hope you find a bloke who wants to kiss you too (hopefully without the punching bit)**

 

He doesn’t say anything.

Every moment I wait for a response, I feel my magic growing hotter, burning, scratching under my skin. My face is flushed and my stomach is a mess, and I don’t know what I’m thinking. Finally, I toss my phone into its drawer and slam it shut, then rub a hand across my face. Of course I would cock up the one fun, nice, easy thing going on in my life. Of _course_ I would. Why do I always make everything about Baz? Why couldn’t I just be a supportive friend and say the right thing? 

If only I were as good with words as I am with my sword.

My sword.

I look out the window at the Wavering Wood, a thought springing to my mind. I can’t do anything about Striker. But maybe there’s one thing I _can_ do.

  


**BAZ**

  


This beautiful sigh of relief escapes me as I let my face sink down on top of the book I’ve been pretending to read for the last twenty minutes. I hold my phone centimeters from my nose, rereading his message a few more times before shutting off the phone screen and pocketing it.

I’ve never mentioned the fact that I'm gay, to Pugs at least, mostly because I didn’t think I was that close to him. Dev and Niall know, my family knows, but it’s not like he’s ever brought up girls. So I didn’t assume, and neither did he.

And thank Crowley, he isn’t disgusted my violent tendencies or for me being me. In fact, he wished me luck in my endeavors. (Not that I have high hopes, or any hope.)

But it still causes me to smile, if a bit briefly.

The whole reason I even brought it up at all was because of Snow. Earlier today during Political Science class, Snow grew frustrated with the assignment, and then his magic started leaking everywhere. It got everyone rip-roaring drunk, myself included. In his self-loathing anger, he stormed out of class to calm himself. Bunce followed him, glaring at me, regardless that I hadn’t so much as said _a single word_ to him the whole class.

Merlin and Morgana, he smelled fucking delicious when he walked past me. He smiles so good all the time, but it's ten times worse now he’s shared his magic with me. The smoke of his magic sticks to my lungs and lingers in my mouth. I hate that I love it.

Maybe I’m still drunk. That could probably the best explanation as to why I haven’t been able to focus and why I started texting Pugs without checking my filter.

I sigh again and slowly sit up. The pages stick to my cheek and nose, so I have to carefully peel off me. Thank Merlin no one else is in the library with me. I haven’t heard anything for nearly an hour now, not since the group of fifth years left.

Maybe I need some fresh air. I’m clearly getting nowhere on my home work at the moment, and practice is soon. And right now, the pitch is probably the only place I can think of that Snow _won’t_ be. He hasn’t gone to any practices this year. I’ve been able to play so much better without his idiot face in the crowd. (That is until games come around and he’s watching me with those ordinary blue eyes.)

I stand to pack up my things, and wobble a moment. I am definitely still drunk, it seems. Hastily I start packing things into my rucksack and head right from the library to the locker rooms. They’re empty so I change from my uniform to a long sleeve where I can slip my wand into and shorts, grab a ball, and then head for the pitch.

I’m alone on the grass, doing some slow and lazy foot work. Just want to warm up and clear my head before anyone else makes it out here with me. 

It’s proving to be more difficult than I thought, especially when I can think of his Snow’s magic filling up my lungs, or way his curls bounce back when he pulls at them in frustration. If it wasn’t bad enough that I am hopelessly in love with him, the dragon incident has made things infinity worse. I’ve braced myself internally because I know he’ll ask to ‘practice’ sharing his magic with me again, if not soon then eventually.

I frown and catch the ball under my foot.

Fuck Snow.

It’s all because he forgetting his wand that I chased him out onto the lawn. I hate that I care so much, and that he thinks so bloody little of me. Not that I haven’t given him a million reasons to hate and dispise me, I just wish things were different. I hate that he does this to me without even knowing it, those split second moments where I question everything from my own self to my loyalties all because of a pair of boring blue eyes and mop of gorgeous bronze curls. I give him too much power, and yet I’m powerless to change it. (Trust me, I have tried for the last three summers to rid myself of him, but he lingers. Always.)

Snapping back to reality, I pretend the ball is Snow’s stupid speckled face, and draw back my foot to kick the ball hard, sending it down the pitch. 

But I don’t go after it. I stand there and watch the ball stop just short of the goal posts.

 _Speckled face_. Why did I think of it that way?

I frown as realization smacks me hard. 

Heat floods my chest and I have to brace a hand to it in fear it might actually ignite. This burns, it hurts.

 _In speckled stars and skin_.

I inhale sharply and make a fist in my shirt, staring past the grass.

“Simon,” I whisper.

The dragon was talking about _him_.

My heart jumps into my throat and I feel like I’m going to choke on it.

_In flame and blood._

I think the dragon prophesied our finale. 

Our end. 

My inevitable death at the hands of Simon Snow.

I feel heavy. I sit on there on the pitch, my vision unfocused. It's cool out, the grass is damp in the growing autumn, and I don't care. I can feel myself start to go numb while my mind races for loop holes in the dragon's words.

 _Hidden in the rabbit's den_.

I shut my eyes when they begin to sting.

Of course. The rabbit's den...it makes sense.

I take a slow, shuddering breath and brace myself to hold in the tears that threaten, to hold in the sob scratching at my throat. Not now, not on the pitch. Tea will be over soon and everyone will be heading out for practice. But I don't feel like playing football anymore. 

I don't feel much of anything, honestly.

I pull myself up after I rein my breathing back into control. Now is not the time to panic. I need to find Snow and tell him what I just figured out. Won't he be elated to know he'll be the one to finally do me in.

The thought turns my stomach. I’ve known this since third year at least, so it’s not so much a surprise as another way life has decided to mock me.

I press both palms into my closed eyes to fully collect my thoughts and form a plan. 

Before he kills me, though, I need help. 

First, I need to find Snow. He doesn’t know about the rabbit’s den, and I think I already know how to get to it. We can figure out the wolf and running part later, first we’ll focus on what we know then worry about the rest.

I look around as if my thoughts could summon him to me. But I don’t see him. He’s probably still at tea with Bunce and Agatha. 

Right. 

I turn back towards Watford, thinking maybe I can catch him before he finishes tea or maybe he’ll be in our room. I should check our room since it’s on the way to the dining hall, though.

Silently walking, I curse myself and wonder why hadn’t I made this connection sooner. It perfectly explains my gut reaction, the panic and fear that set into my chest and mixed horribly with Snow’s magic. 

I touch the shoulder he had gripped so tightly I bruised. It’s faded now. Healed, actually. The night we purposely mixed our magic together, all the soreness and discoloration had gone. I think it was his magic, and the fact he was worried that the experiment might have _actually_ hurt me. 

 _And he’ll hurt me again_ , I think while rounding the football stands. _When he kills me with that bloody sword of his_.

I catch movement in the corner of my vision and glance at a green blazer and a streek of bronze dart between the tree line. _Snow_. I stop, eyes following him between the quickly thickening branches until he’s gone. Without even thinking, my feet start to propel before forward at a jog toward where he entered the wood.

I hate the Wavering Wood, I only ever come out here if I absolutely need to or if I need to stop from cutting off the whole rat population in the catacombs. But I’m not here to hunt. Well. Not for a drink. I just need to find Snow. The scent of his magic is heavy in the air, and I follow it, the smoke tasting thick and evergreen. I worry if I don’t keep my breaths shallow, I might find myself pissed for a second time today from his magic.

“Snow?” I call, but I get nothing in return. 

There’s a breeze that plays with his magic, birds flutter out of a tree silently with the crunching of leaves and twigs. My full attention snaps in the direction of a cry comes that from my left and I start for it. 

It’s Snow, huffing loudly, and I can hear the whistling of his sword. 

Once I break through the tree line into the wide clearing, I can see Snow hacking away at a particularly thick spot of bushes with his sword. His face is drawn up in frustration, bright red and glaring at the woods. He’s forging his own path instead of taking one that’s already carved out.

“Snow,” I call again, louder this time and thankfully pull his attention. 

He blinks at me as I make my way over casually, running a hand through my hair to fix it, hopefully doing my best not to look like I just ran through the woods chasing after him.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask since he just stands there gaping like a fish. 

It takes him a minute to collect himself, but he doesn’t lower the sword fully. I make sure to keep my distance still.

“I-I’m looking for the wolf. And the rabbit’s den.”

“Those were _metaphors_.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“So, what? You’re just going to take your sword and face a wolf down alone?”

He shrugs again.

“ _Crowley._ Snow..” I roll my eyes at him and cross my arms.

Suspicion flashes across his features a moment before he fixes me with a hard stare. “What are you doing out here, Baz?”

I eye his sword and arch a brow in amusement. “Following you.” 

He growls.

“What? Don’t like being followed? Annoying, isn’t it?”

He adjusts his stance, the sword raised and braced for combat, as if it’s supposed to scare me. I make a show of rolling my eyes at him and sigh loudly.

“I’m not out here to kill you, you bloody idiot. I came to talk to you.”

“About what?” He barks back, defensive and annoyed.

“I think I know what the dragon was trying to tell us.” 

His grip slouches until the tip of the sword is dug into the soft earth and he looks up at me with wide eyes.

“Yeah, you figured it out?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Of course I did.” 

His expression sours and he breaks eye contact with me. I’m going to lose him to anger if I keep this up, so I spit it out.

“I need your help.” I catch his eyes again, the ordinary blue hooking me back into his orbit. “I need your help to find the rabbit’s den.”

He frowns. “Like, out here in the woods?” He glances around, and who even knows whats going through his mind.

“No, Snow,” I sigh loudly and pinch the top of my nose. “As I said before, it is not a literal rabbit’s den.”

“Then what _are_ you looking for?”

I let my hand drop to my side and stare at him cooly.

“A truce.”


	7. Chapter 7

**SIMON**

  
  


When I open my eyes the next morning, the first thing I do is roll over and peer at Baz.

He looks so different when he’s asleep. Less menacing. Less sneering. Still like a bloody vampire caricature come to life, though.

And I’m teaming up with him.

Christ.

I don’t know how to do this, with him. A truce. We’re Simon and Baz. We’re life-long enemies. Nemeses. We don’t  _ do _ truces; we aren’t wired that way. There’s the whole magic-sharing thing, I guess, but that’s an exception to  _ everything,  _ to the actual laws of magic itself. It’s no wonder that it’s an exception for us.

Still, it isn’t like this is going to change anything, not in the long term. (I don’t think there’s any way things  _ could _ change in the long term. Not with this. Not with us.)

But we’re going to work together, find the nursery, figure out what this wolf is and what it wants, and then we’re going to kill it.

Because I gave him my word that we would, and I’ll stick to it. I would even if we hadn’t taken a truce oath - it’s the right thing to do. Because we’re both in danger, and others are, too. 

And in the end, when the wolf is dead, we’ll go back to being on opposite sides like we’re meant to be.

Of course, if he’s right about the prophecy, we might actually  _ be _ finished when we’re done. At least, one of us.

I try not to think about it the rest of the day, finding ways to kill time. Agatha is at an away game, and Penny is spending the day with Trixie, trying to work on their eighth year spell. (I’m selfishly glad I’ll be busy tonight, because she’s going to be in a hell of a mood.) Baz has been sequestered away in an abandoned classroom since this morning, and he doesn’t want me around, being a distraction while he’s trying to get everything together for the spells we’re going to try.

(Turns out, I was right. He  _ was _ working on another spell behind my back, even though the wanker still won’t tell me why. And I’m not even allowed to be pissed at him over it. Stupid truce.)

Finally, just as I’m finishing with tea, he walks by my table, making eye contact and nodding a bit when he passes.

Either I’ve entered an alternate universe where Baz willfully acknowledges my presence, or he’s ready.

I stuff the rest of my food into my mouth in two bites, grab another scone from the buffet, wrap it in a napkin, and then start huffing and puffing up the staircase. Eighth years have been given permission to use the classrooms on the fourth floor outside of class times for our spells. (The second and third floors are still off limits; I think it’s their ploy to keep us all in shape. Or to kill us before graduation. By the time I reach the fourth floor, the latter seems more probable.)

When I finally reach the classroom, I slam the scone down on the teacher’s desk where Baz has books spread out, then plop down in one of the desks in the front row.

“What is this?” Baz asks in confusion, looking from me to the scone. There’s a list of phrases on the blackboard behind him, and I squint at it while answering.

“Food.”

“You’re bringing me food now?”

I shrug, still trying to even out my breathing and suddenly wishing that I was the one who carried handkerchiefs, because I’m pretty sure I’m sweating, but I’d snap my wand before I would ask him for one. There’s no way Baz got here more than thirty seconds before I did, and he looks ready to pose for the cover of  _ The Watford Weekly _ . 

He peers at the scone suspiciously. “Did you sneeze on it or something?”

“God, Baz!” I throw up my hands. “I was just trying to do something nice since we’re working together and you hadn’t eaten all day. Forget it. Won’t try it again.”

He pauses and blinks at me. “Oh.”

He doesn’t thank me, but he does take a bite before turning away and looking at something in a book.

I decide to take that as an apology.

I inspect the spells on the blackboard once again. Two of them I’ve definitely used before, the third I’ve heard of but never tried, and the last three are a complete mystery to me. His handwriting is freakishly neat. I wonder if he did it himself or used some old school variation of  **see what I mean** . 

Baz clears his throat, breaking my train of thought. “Right. Let’s get started. I’ve all the resources here, in case we need anything.” He gestures to the books he has spread all over the desk. “And I’ve listed the spells we’ll be trying. The first three you’ll recognize, I assume,” he continues, not even looking back at me to check. “And the last three are the possibilities for the spell I’ve been working on. I’ve had varying degrees of success on my own, but we’ll see what happens when we...when you help.”

“Makes sense.”

“I don’t think any of the established spells will do it, because they’re all based on the usual approach of working from location of the object itself, whether it’s to make the object appear on a map or otherwise. But I’ve been working with Gwydion’s Theory, which assumes the opposite - that you need to work from you  _ to  _ the object.”

I squint at him. “What do you mean? If you don’t know where the object is, how can you find it?”

“It’s a complex theory, but it’s based in plants. You know how a flower will grow toward the sun no matter where it’s placed?”

I nod.

“It’s like that. The idea is to activate a sort of magnet inside yourself that will be attracted to the destination’s essence. And then you essentially ‘grow’ toward the object like a plant would toward the sun.”

“Huh. That’s brilliant.”

Baz blinks, unsure of where to go with that. So I tack on, “Not you. But the theory.”

He snorts, and we’re back on normal ground. “That’s the hope. I think it has very strong merit. It was once used for navigation spells, but it fell out of popularity after Galileo.”

Hell’s spells. How much research did he do to discover this? What the hell has he been trying to  _ find _ ? I know this isn’t supposed to be what I’m concentrating on right now, but I file it away to think about later. This has to be part of why he was late this year.

“Well.” He dusts his hands together as though he still has chalk residue on them. “Let’s get started.”

I stand, glad that I’ve been sitting long enough that my heartbeat and breathing have now returned to a normal rate, but hesitate, not sure exactly how he wants to do this.

Almost as though he’s read my mind (which I’m approximately 64% certain he can’t actually do), he says, “I thought we would try you powering, me casting first.”

I shrug. “Fine.” 

That’s fair. He has more control than I do. But I can’t help the disappointment that flashes through me. I want to feel my magic like that again, after he filters it. The past few days, it’s all I’ve been able to do not to beg him to let me hold his hands for a few seconds, just to be able to feel like other mages must all the time. But now’s not the time for that, and I know it.

“If that doesn’t work, we can try the other way ‘round. But I think it will.” 

I think it will, too. He’s so bloody brilliant. Between his technique and my power, I’m not convinced there’s spell we can’t cast.

This idea is thoroughly blasted to hell when we try our first spell, though.

After an awkward moment of shuffling, we finally land with him facing the blackboard and me standing at his side, grasping his left arm while he casts with his right.

“ **_Somewhere over the rainbow_ ** ,” he says, clear and steady, and immediately, enormous waves of multicolored light stream from his wand in every direction until the entire room is filled.

It’s like being wrapped in the world’s biggest, sparkliest rainbow. It’s so bright, I can barely see Baz’s frown through the shifting haze between us, deep violet one moment, a startling green the next. 

Suddenly, the colors fade into a white mist, which dissipates gradually into nothingness, leaving the room looking dull and boring.

I blink.

The whole thing lasted maybe ten seconds, but it was beautiful and disorienting, and...not at all right.  **Somewhere over the rainbow** is supposed to cast a trail, and you just follow the rainbow to your destination. It’s definitely not supposed to do that.

“Huh,” Baz says, staring at his wand.

“Didn’t do that when you tried?” I ask. Suddenly I realize I’m still grasping his arm, and I let go as casually as I can. He doesn’t seem to notice, still looking around the room like he isn’t quite sure what happened.

“No. It didn’t work at all when I tried.”

“Well, it’s not like it really worked this time.”

“True.”

“D’you think we should try it again?”

Baz nods. “Especially since this actually got a reaction. I need to concentrate on focusing while I have your power. I’m not used to it.”

I don’t point out that he was able to focus spells perfectly the other night - he’s not the one who wound up floating a merwolf on accident.

But we try it twice more, and the same thing happens. Each time, it’s like being inside a supernova made of rainbows. But the magic never goes anywhere. 

We move onto the next spell, because it’s clear focusing isn’t the problem. It just isn’t working.

“ **_Not all who wander are lost_ ** ,” he casts, pointing his wand at the map of the school while I grasp his bicep and let him pull on my magic. 

Nothing happens.

No matter how many times we try, no little shiny dot appears, telling us where the nursery might be hiding. Nothing.

By the time we get to the third spell, Baz’s mouth is tense at the corners, even though he told me himself he didn’t expect these to work.

“ **_Lead the way_ ** ,” he says, with the perfect amount of emphasis. Miss Possibelf would probably be complimenting his diction or something if she were here. She always does. There’s always something impeccable about Baz’s performance to praise, just as there’s always something that needs fixing in mine.

This spell is supposed to essentially turn your wand into a compass, but it does absolutely nothing. Baz’s wand doesn’t shift a centimetre. 

So, for all our efforts, for all my confidence in our combined magics, we’ve been able to make rainbows and do...absolutely nothing else.

I’m still hoping against hope that one of Baz’s spells will work, even though I know he hasn’t gotten them to yet, not all the way. 

But at least we know that the nursery is at Watford somewhere. It has to be. Even if we fail utterly and completely with the spells, I will find that nursery. I’ll walk every single bit of these grounds until I uncover it.

We’re going to find this wolf, and we’re going to take it down.

  
  


**BAZ**

  
  


Nothing is working, and I find myself growing frustrated. Snow is frustrated, too.

Without asking for a break, I pull away from Snow’s grip and immediately miss the heat of it. I just need to take a step away from him to breathe and think clearly. His magic is still coursing through me, though, and it buzzes in my chest and ears. There’s still plenty of smoke on my lungs, too, but it’s easier to focus when I’m not looking at him. Or touching him. (Especially touching him.)

“This isn’t working,” I sigh.

Instead of a bland quip or growl, all Snow does is walk into my vision and begin to pace between the desks.

I can practically hear him thinking.

“Maybe,” he drawls, pacing away and then turning back toward me. “Maybe if you told me  _ exactly _ what we’re looking for. So I could visualize it properly. Or, like, if you had a photograph or painting, for reference.”

That’s not a bad idea, but I’m not going to tell him that. Instead I arch an eyebrow at him and curl my lip. “I don’t have either of those things, Snow.”

He glances at me, then looks down at the ground, still pacing. He’s begun to turn red with frustration, and I think about poking the bear, but refrain. For now.

“But,” I say after a few moments pause. “I could tell you what I remember of it.”

“Yeah!”

He spins on his heel and grabs my hand without hesitation. His magic starts pouring into my skin at once. I can’t repress the shiver that runs up my spine when it courses into my chest and lights a pyre.

“Alright,” I sigh, relaxing some as I grow accustomed to the flow of magic. “Where to start…”

I can see the nursery clearly in my mind, from the curtain colors to the style of the lamp shades, the number of cribs, and even the mural on the ceiling. It’s just saying them out loud, especially to Snow, is almost...too much. We don’t share anything, only a room, and even that is reluctantly. But this memory is  _ mine _ , and it’s intimate in a way that I cannot explain. 

Maybe I get lost in thought just a little too long, because Snow squeezes my hand and brings me back to the present. 

“Right,” I whisper, and then clear my throat. “It had a wooden door with a carved scene of hares and badgers in a field on it. Tan carpeting, a green area rug and matching curtains.”

Snow closes his eyes and nods patiently, listening intently to me describe the last place I saw my mother alive.

I subconsciously squeeze his hand tighter and don’t notice until my hand begins to cramp. I let my grip relax, but Snow doesn’t seem bothered. His eyebrows are screwed up in concentration, and his edges blur just a little.

With my wand out, I go through each of the spells one more time.  **_Somewhere over the rainbow_ ** sends another wave of pretty but useless lights dancing around us.  **_Not all who wander are lost_ ** just causes the map to flutter against the chalkboard I’ve stuck it to, no dot or brand showing up to indicate any location.  **_Lead the way_ ** does nothing but send another surge of magic into my chest because Snow is still pushing it into me through our clasped hands.

Nothing new has happened, even with the added knowledge of what the nursery looked like.

I sigh and glance at Snow beside me.

“Stop thinking so hard. It’s annoying.”

He peeks an eye open, growls, then shuts it again so he can continue wasting energy.

It’s time to poke the bear a little, I think.

“You know, I did try to make a spell just for this.”

This catches his attention. He blinks up at me and becomes a little less blurry around the edges.

“You kept interrupting me, though. I couldn’t have a moment’s peace in the chapel to get any reading done.”

“No!” He growls. “ That's not all you were doing, and I know it. ”

I let his hand go so I can throw mine up in exasperation and then gesture behind him to the desk where all my papers are scattered and the spells written on the chalkboard.

“Yes, Snow! I was doing research. I can’t bloody think when you’re leaking magic like you do every damn night and day, so I go there to think and read!”

“Yeah, alright.” He says sarcastically while making a show of rolling his eyes.

“Alright,” I snap, and march right into his space where he squares his shoulders and juts out his jaw. I draw my wand and grab his hand with the other, squeezing hard. He tries to pull away, but I don’t let him. “Give it to me, and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

At first he stares at me in defiance, red faced and angry and growling, but I wait patiently for him to rise to my challenge. A tense minute passes before he gives in. His magic rushes up my arm and sings in my ears with such a force I nearly yank my hand back. But I can’t, because he’s holding it with such conviction...and because I will  _ not  _ bend to him.

“ _ Crowley _ ,” I hiss, and I can practically feel billows of smoke pouring out between my teeth. I try not to shudder.

“Show me what you got, Baz.”

_ Finally _ .

I don’t need to close my eyes and picture the nursery with its round windows and the LEGO bricks spread across the main rug. I can see my mother, her long black hair loose and falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her calloused hands warm upon my cheeks. A solid memory.

“ **_This is the road, and these are the hands_ ** .” I weave magic into my words, wand hovering over our joined hands.

Our hands begin to glow, and the two of us focus on them. But it’s only for a moment. They don’t get too bright before the light flickers once or twice, then goes out completely.

I sigh loudly. “That happened last time I tried.”

Snow glances between our hands and my face a few times, curious.

“That, and my hands caught fire. Lucky they didn’t do it now.” I say with dry humor.

He doesn’t look amused.

“Relax, Snow. That was a  _ joke _ . You’re supposed to laugh.”

He doesn’t laugh, so I roll my eyes.

“Just try another one. I’m not in the mood for your games.” 

Whatever.

I squeeze his hands and focus on another spell. This one I have more confidence in.

“ **_Round the corner there may wait, a new road or a secret gate_ ** .”

It’s a bit of a reach, an obscure line from one of the many songs Tolkien wrote. But my mother loved his works, so I concentrate and pray it works.

Nothing happens right away, but slowly,  _ so slowly _ , I feel something warm form in my chest. It doesn’t feel like the fire in my fingertips or the electric buzz from Snow. It’s different and tugs at me, egging me forward.

“I feel something,” I breathe.

“I feel something, too!” He nods, beaming up at me, his mood completely one-eighty. At once he starts moving for the classroom door, but I draw him back.

“Before we go,” I say, thinking fast. I pull him to the desk to collect my things, shoving all the papers and books into my bag one handed and then clearing the chalkboard with a flick of my wrist. “There, much better.” 

Don’t need anyone stealing my spells.

Unsure if the spell will continue to work if we lose our connection, I start dragging Snow along by the hand. The pull inside us draws us out of the classroom, into the hallway, which we check to make sure is deserted before yielding to the spell’s pull. The more we move, the tighter the knot in my chest tugs until we end up in front of a blank span of wall between two classroom doors on the other side of the fourth floor.

The pull is strongest right in the middle of the empty space. Snow glances at me, then the wall, and back again. He drops my hand and reaches up to touch the smooth painted surface.

“Where’s the door?” He asks, and honestly it just makes me want to punch him. 

“I don’t know, Snow,” I answer through clenched teeth.

Before I can do anything, Snow is calling his sword. He raises it over head with both hands, ready to burst through.

“Si-!” I start in panic, but stop when he buries the sword into the wall, cutting through the drywall and plaster. His eyes go wide, and he keeps pushing until the sword is buried to the hilt.

“What the--” Snow yanks the sword back, and I have to lean away from him so it doesn’t bloody hit me.

“Move,” I bark, pushing him out of the way so I can look through the hole he’s created.

It’s dark, but I can see something. A stone wall on the far side opposite me, dust dancing in the small beam of light, but the hole is only a few centimeters. I can’t really see much. I stick a finger through the drywall and pull on it, yanking a chunk off the wall. Snow protests, grabs at my arm to try and stop me, but I shake him off.

“You already made the first hole, and I can fix it with magic.” I move to completely block off the hole and start to make it wider, tearing plaster from the wall with my hands.

After a couple large pieces come off, I stick my head in to glance up and down. The space opens up, no floor where a floor should be, and it goes far enough down that I can’t see the bottom. Beside me Snow shoves into my side. Soon his face is sharing the small space with my own, radiating magic and heat, but I can’t even let myself enjoy it because I’m too annoyed and disappointed at myself. My spell worked, but not correctly. I run a hand through my hair and sigh.

“Wait. Is this...is this the dumbwaiter?” His question echoes off the stone walls.

It looks like an  _ abandoned _ dumbwaiter, but whatever it is, it’s not the nursery.

“Y’know,” he nudges me. “That one Marcus got stuck in.”

_ Oh! _

I huff to cover the laugh I almost let out. “Right. I nearly forgot about that.”

I take a step back and flash Snow a grin, which he returns.

“Your spell sorta worked.” He throws a thumb at the uncovered dumbwaiter. “Guess this is a kind of secret gate, since the Mage closed it off. Forgot all about it.”

“So it seems, though this wasn’t our intended target.”

I spell the wall back to the way we found it. We don’t need a repeat of Marcus getting stuck in there again.

“Let’s give it another go.” Snow sheaths his sword at the hip then turns to me and offers his hand, sighing dramatically.

I roll my eyes and, not so reluctantly, take his hand. Snow’s magic is once again smoky and running deep into my chest, over filling me with so much power that I shudder. (I can’t fucking help it at this point, apparently.)

There’s only one more spell I’ve come up with. 

Well, one that I  _ actually  _ believe in.

I take a slow, steadying breath to relax. I steel myself, draw on the magic running through my veins and the shared magic from Snow. I close my eyes, unable to look at him when I speak. This spell, this song, is personal.

“ **_If my heart was a compass, you'd be north_ ** .”

There’s an actual reaction with this spell, something more immediate and difficult to ignore. Something tries to lurch me forward, towards Snow, but I hold fast and still. My eyes fly open when a warm, airy feeling bursts in my chest. And then the space where my heart is begins to glow, white and soft under my shirt, beating in time with the slowness of my pulse. I can’t stop staring at it, but then another light flickers into life.

“Wha-” Snow starts, but silences himself due to shock.

This new light is coming from Snow’s chest, glowing and beating much faster than my own. He looks down, eyes wide. My gaze snaps to his face where I can see him turning red around the ears. I desperately rein in the expression on my face to read as nothing but annoyed, as if this were Snow’s doing and not my own.

_ Fuck fuck fuck _ ! This definitely isn’t how I wanted the spell to work!

Thank Merlin I haven’t fed today, but that doesn’t stop the shameful sensation of a blush creeping up my neck, regardless of it not appearing in color.

Snow looks up at me, both in question and...panic? I can’t figure out his thoughts, too preoccupied by my own.

I swallow thickly and with quick thinking, shift my thoughts away from the boy in front of me and back to my mother in the nursery.

Before I can fully picture her sitting on the rug with me and my LEGO, the light in Snow’s chest flickers rapidly, slowly draws out of him, and floats between us. It hovers there a moment before dancing lazily off towards the other end of the hallway. Neither of us move as the light bobs and weaves, gliding silently above the stone floor, but once it gets a few metres away, I tug Snow along before the globe can turn a corner.

“What’s it doing?” He asks in a loud whisper.

“It’s...I don’t know.” I say honestly.

“What?! You don’t know?” Snow nearly trips beside me but I help him recover so we don’t lose the light down another corridor.

“This didn’t happen last time! I’m making it up from here, okay?”

Last time, only my chest glowed. Nothing happened but the flicker of my heart beat. It was draining, but right now I don’t feel that empty. Not with Snow’s magic still raging inside me.

I stumble when the light turns a sharp corner, pulling Snow along with me when it dives down a set of stairs. We take them two at a time, round and round, and nearly slam into the wall on the landing, taking off down one corridor, then another. I don’t even know where we are until I see the music rooms.

The globe saunters past four classroom doors then circles back. We pause, both panting. I check there’s no one behind us, but then Snow is tugging me back.

“Baz!” He hisses, damn near knocking me over when he yanks on my hand.

The glowing orb has stopped moving, floating in front of a wooden door that wasn’t there just a moment ago. It has several hares and badgers carved into its surface. 

Then, slowly, the light moves forward, sinking into the wood and passing through it.

My heart’s pounding now, the pull in my chest gone. Because it’s right here.

The nursery. 

_ The rabbit’s den _ .


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! First of all, thank you so much for all the support on this story! It means the world to us. <3
> 
> Secondly, just a note to say we'll be going a bit more canon-divergent regarding both the past and the present. 
> 
> Which is to say, if you notice something that doesn't align with canon, it was on purpose. (...Probably.)

**BAZ**

  
  


The door to the nursery is right there. The badgers and hares stare blankly back at me. They're smaller than I remember. Everything was so big back then, I suppose.

I did it, though. I created a spell, and it  _ worked _ . Truly worked.

But here I am, frozen in shock.

I just didn't plan on what to do once I found it. Yes, I want to look inside, but my hands are shaking and I'm gripping my wand so tightly I fear my fingers might leave impressions in the leather hilt forever.

"Baz?" Snow whispers beside me. "We found it."

"I know, you dolt." I snap at him. The mindless bickering is grounding somehow.

"Y'know, I understand that this is probably like, kinda difficult for you, but I can hear people coming, Baz."

Snow's right, and now that he's mentioned it, I can hear footsteps on the stairs.

"We should go in before people catch us," he says, nudging past me and reaching for the brass doorknob. 

“Wait,” I say, grabbing his wrist before he even touches the handle. “We don’t know if the door will disappear if we go in. The tower sealed it once. We could get trapped inside if it does it again.”

His brows wrinkle together, and then he shakes his head. “If it does, we’ll magic ourselves out, and if not, then we lock the door so no one comes in.”

The thought of being purposefully locked in a room with Snow, let alone the  _ nursery _ , causes me to swallow dryly. I shove those thoughts away, though, and let his wrist go. He immediately turns the knob and moves inside the dark room, leaving an opening just big enough for me to squeeze through as the sound of students coming up the stairs grows louder.

I slip in and turn to face the inside of the door, close it and lock it, then spell it locked for good measure. I have no idea if the door is still sitting the music hallway or not, but better safe than sorry. 

“I can’t see anything,” Snow hisses, knocking my shoulder and earning himself a growl from me.

He growls right back and reaches over in my vision and fumbles, groping for a light switch. It’s not anywhere near where he’s reaching, so I grab his hand and shove it further down the wall until he gives a small ‘ah-ha!’ and flips the switch. Old dusty bulbs flicker to life and hum softly, and I let his hand go. 

All the blood I have in me is currently pounding in my ears and I can feel my whole body tense, poised on high alert. I haven’t been in this room for twelve years, and admittedly, I’m anxious. I don't know what I'm going to find here. I just know I had to see it before I leave, and that urge became even more prudent when the dragon’s prophecy involved a  _ rabbit's den _ .

“I just need a moment.” I keep my voice even as possible, and my eyes do not move from the wooden door.

“Alright,” he sighs, moving to stand beside me but his back is to the wall.

His hand hangs limply down beside me and I feel it brush against the balled fist at my side. I’m not sure if I imagine it or not, but his palm turns forward as if offering it to me. I hesitate a moment before taking it, our palms sliding together silently. His warmth against my skin is steady and sure. For once, his heart beat is slower than mine, and I now realize I’m breathing faster than normal. It’s not fast enough to be on the edge of panic, but enough that even Snow knows not to speak to me.

We stand there in silence for a little while before I straighten my shoulders, reign my breathing back under control, and I let his hand go as I turn to face the room.

It’s been twelve years, but surveying the room it could be just yesterday that I stepped foot in here. Nothing’s changed. There’s still a handful of LEGOs spilled over a green rug, and the matching green curtains hang in front of dark windows. The brown carpet is still thick and lush, surprisingly not covered in dust. Maybe the tower kept it magically intact, preserving the nursery as it once was, as it  _ should _ have been..

But it doesn't smell musty. It smells like coming home, and something else that makes my eyes sting, and I do absolutely nothing about it when my vision starts so go hazy and swim.

A rocking chair sits under a portrait of an old headmaster and their children, a blanket still slung over the back of it. It takes me a moment to realize I’m moving closer, my feet dragging me to it of their own accord. I reach for the blanket to rub my thumb and forefinger over the tiny rose patterns that litter the fabric. It’s soft, delicate, and the end of it pools into the seat when I tug it up to my face.

There's an old scent clinging to it. Baby powder, a flowery perfume, smoke…

I let it go and exhale that memory.

Instead I focus on the back of the rocking chair, tracing the wood grain with my finger tips, all the way down to the arm rest. The dark wood stain is worn from use here, a light brown patch where an elbow once sat and another on the smooth decorative curve at the end of the armrest where a palm might sit. I fit my hand over it and rub at the wood.

The chair rocks gently, creaking quietly.

“Baz?” I hear faintly behind me, but Snow sounds so far off. 

I don’t answer him and continue to rock the chair as my vision goes out of focus.

_ “Basilton,” my mother says. “Come, come.” Her arms open wide, face warm and soft and beautiful. _

_ I’m on the carpet with piles of bricks forgotten all around me and a book open in my lap. I can’t read all the words, but there’s pictures in black and white, some in color. But when I look away, all I can see is my mother, seated in the rocking chair and waiting for me. So I stand, wobble just a little with the book still open in my hands. I giggle when she scoops me up into her lap, leaning us back into the chair and rocking slowly. _

_ “What are you reading?” she asks, lips pressing to my hair. _

_ “A Practical and Natural Guide to Dragons,” I state proudly and then show her the pages I have open. _

_ “And what have you learned today?” She hums quietly and kisses my hair again. _

_ “Did you know, mum, that nesting dragons are more aggressive? And and! The mummy dragon won’t leave her eggs for days at a time, not even to eat?” My voice is high pitched with excitement, and I’m smiling so widely up at her.  _ _ Her arms reach around me to grasp the book, and I nestle into her warmth. With my hands free, I can flip through the pages more quickly, and I show her my favorite pictures, all the different dragon eggs and nests. Somebody must have spent so long drawing them, to make them so perfect. They’re all way better than when I tried to copy them with my crayons. _

_ “That’s amazing, little puff!” She draws out the words in a singsong and squeezes me, nuzzling into my hair, and it causes me to giggle. _

_ What starts are her lavishing me with kisses and motherly praises turns into the book forgotten on the floor while she tickles me and I screech with laughter. I bolt from her grasp, and she chases me around the room, between the toys and cribs until she catches me around the middle and hoists me up on her shoulder. _

_ “I have you now!” she cries over my mad giggles. _

_ I flail and laugh and then shout ‘no!’ when she inhales loudly, which is  _ always _ followed by a very loud, very wet raspberry being blown against my neck. I kick and scream with more laughter. _

“Baz?”

My ears are ringing, my vision blurry as I stare into nothing. I try to focus on someone calling my name. I know the voice, but I can’t place it. It’s so hard to focus, though, and I just.. I just don’t  _ care _ . 

The corner of my lips twitch when the ringing fades and I can hear another memory.

_ We’re in the rocking chair again, Mother’s arms wrapped around me while her heel gently rocks us. She’s whispering. “You light a match inside your heart, and then blow on the tinder.” _

_ She lifts a hand while the other holds me close, fingers spread and a ghost of a spell on her lips. A single blue flame comes to life, small at first but growing strong in her graceful hand. _

_ “See, little puff?” The blue flame weave between her calloused fingers, never touching her skin. I want to reach out and touch it, but I know better and sit still in her lap. _

_ “Your magic is so beautiful, Mummy,” I sigh, leaning into her neck as I watch the flame leave her palm and dance away until it fizzles out. _

 

**SIMON**

 

I call Baz’s name twice, but he doesn’t move. Just stands there, pushing the rocking chair back and forth like he’s in some kind of trance. When I move to try to get in his field of vision, he’s staring into space, eyes glazed over and tears tracking down his cheeks unheeded.

“Hey.” I wave a hand in front of his face. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink. His body might be here, but he’s somewhere else entirely. I don’t know if it’s the room or-

The chair. He’s touching the chair. It must be haunted or hexed or something. I  _ knew _ this room felt weird from the second we walked inside.

Careful not to brush against it (and suppressing a weird laugh at the idea of the Chosen One and his nemesis wasting away in a room where no one will find them, brought to their ultimate doom by a rocking chair), I reach out and shove at his arm, but he won’t turn loose. He’s grasping the chair so tightly that the skin is stretched taut across his knuckles.

I fumble for my wand, trying to think of an anti-hex or disenchanting spell that might work. Penny would know. Why didn’t we bring Penny?

I fire off a couple spells at the chair, but nothing happens, and I tug at my hair in frustration. I can feel my magic rising with my adrenaline, and I try to breathe, to focus. I yank at Baz’s hand again, but it holds fast. I don’t think I can peel back his fingers without touching the chair, but-

The answer comes to me in a flash, so obvious I almost smack myself in the head.

“ **_Let it go_ ** ,” I cast, pointing my wand at Baz’s fingers.

It works. He lets go of the rocking chair, and I breathe a sigh of relief until I realize it hasn’t changed anything. He’s still completely spaced out.

I grit my teeth, and a wave of frustration crashes over me.  **Let it go** is a second year spell at best and did absolutely nothing to release my magic, and I can feel it from my fingertips to my toes, a scalding rush just beneath my skin, desperate to get out. I can’t go off. Not here, not now. We just found this place; I don’t want to destroy any evidence of the wolf that we might find here.

I look around for anything else that might be causing the hypnotic state, but I don’t see anything suspicious. Penny or Baz might notice something tiny, but being observant isn’t my strength. I shout and swing my sword and use my fists, and right now, there’s nothing to punch or stab. I try yelling again. “Baz!” Nothing. I get louder. “ _ Baz _ ! What’s going on? Is it the chair? The room?” I fling my hands out to the side. “Dammit,  **_just tell me_ ** .”

I don’t mean to say it with magic. I don’t. But I feel the hot rush of magic leave me with the words, and I automatically start to cast  **you don’t have to** but stop myself. If he could tell me, it would actually be good. But before I can even see if it worked, I’m startled out of my wits by the door flying open.

But when I whip around toward the noise, the door hasn’t actually opened. It’s still closed, but there’s an identical phantom door flung wide next to it, only half-visible. Like a ghost door. Except why would there be a ghost  _ door _ because that doesn’t even make sense. 

And then I’m not thinking anymore, because there’s a fucking  _ vampire _ .

He’s tall, with skin a chalky, greyish white, and his long face is surrounded by lanky, dull blond hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in a decade. And most importantly, his fangs are huge and sharp, and he isn’t attacking yet but looks like he’s preparing to. Like the door, he’s only half-corporeal. Is he a ghost? Are there such thing as ghost  _ vampires _ ? Can they still bite you? How would that even work? 

Movement in the corner of my vision startles me enough to look away from the apparition, and when I look toward it, I’m struck by two realizations. One, Baz has snapped out of his trance. He’s looking toward the vampire with an expression of utter horror. Two, we’re no longer alone besides the intruder. About half a dozen little phantom children of various ages are scattered throughout the room, and there’s a woman in the far corner who definitely wasn’t there before holding an infant, and then it hits me.

This is  _ the _ attack. The Watford Tragedy.

Which means one of these kids must be a tiny Baz. And I’m going to watch him be- and his mum-

I flinch away from the thought.

And then suddenly the ghost-vampire isn’t alone. There are three more of varying shapes and sizes, but they all have that same skin tone and fangs and expression that says they’re out for blood.

Literally.

I’m frozen, almost as though someone has cast  **stand your ground** on me, and all I can do is watch in growing horror as the scene unfolds around me.

The screams. The running. The littluns all crying from fright and confusion.

I try to stop it, for Baz’s sake if not my own, but I can’t even speak. My vocal chords are paralyzed, and I can’t produce a single word. I close my eyes and try to  _ will _ it to stop, but my magic refuses to cooperate because of fucking  _ course _ it does, and the scene continues.

“Nico! Where’d you go!” the first vampire hollers. My head whips toward his voice, and I flinch when I find the woman lying motionless on the floor beside him, wand in her hand. Turning away toward the door, I try to see who he was yelling at.

There’s another vampire I hadn’t noticed before, hovering just inside the doorway. I can’t see his right arm or leg, because they’re blocked by the actual, physical door, not technically inside the room. He’s definitely a vampire, too, but he’s also different. For one, he’s dressed a lot more nicely, in a suit with a pocket square that’s embroidered with a design that looks kind of like a sun with squiggly lines along it. He also doesn’t have the same bloodlust in his eyes as the others. He looks like I feel - scared and confused and ready to vomit.

“What are you,  _ scared _ , Nico?” The voice is cruel and mocking. “You knew the job. There, I saved one for you,” he says, pointing to a little boy with reddish gold skin and dark hair, crouched in front of a bassinet in the corner.

An invisible cry rises in my throat, and I try to wrench myself out of this immobility spell.

“I’m not biting a  _ child _ .”

The other one sneers, and his fangs are stained red with blood from the guardian. My stomach churns. “You’re the one who wanted this life. You want the others to finally accept you? This is it. This is your chance.”

“I didn’t agree to this!”

The blond shrugs and rolls his eyes, strolling almost casually toward the child I’m almost sure is Baz. “This is the job we were hired to do. At least shut up if you aren’t gonna help.”

I can hear mocking laughter from the corner behind me, but I don’t look at them. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

“Fuck.  _ Fuck _ !” the young one hisses, facing the closed door, as though he can see something beyond it. His voice rises. “That’s Natasha Pitch. We have to go  _ now _ .”

The laughter stops, and one of the vampires behind me mumbles, “Shit.”

“I’m getting out of here,” the one in the doorway says, and he disappears. Mere seconds later, a woman is in the doorway in his place.

Even if he hadn’t said, even if I’d never seen a portrait of her before, I would have known her immediately.

She looks so much like Baz. Her skin is darker, a warm brown, but they have the same jaw, the same eyes. She even moves like him, with strength and grace and purpose. 

And right now, her purpose is to set every single one of these vampires alight.

She flings the first fireball the instant she’s inside the door, and then she’s a whirling mass of destruction. Somehow, she avoids all the children, yelling at them to get out, to run, while she lights up another vampire who growls and lunges at her before going up in flames.

“Mum!” a bloodcurdling scream comes from the little boy in the corner, and the woman turns immediately. The blond vampire has Baz’s shoulders grasped in his long, spindly fingers, leaning over him.

They’re right underneath a giant mural of a rabbit painted on the ceiling. A distant, disconnected part of my brain thinks that must this must have been why Baz knew that this was what the dragon was talking about. The giant bunny. Rabbit’s den. It makes sense. 

Then the vampire bares his fangs and sets them against the tiny Baz’s neck, and something in my brain snaps, and I’m straining with every bit of strength and magic I can muster. I don’t know if I’m trying to stop the replay or trying to stop the attack or both, but my magic is useless because I can’t I can’t I  _ can’t _ . I manage to reach out blindly and grasp for Baz’s hand and try to open my magic, but I don’t know if there’s anything he can do either-

But it turns out neither of us have to do anything, because Natasha is there first, shouting back-to-back spells that send the vampire flying backward then erupting in flames before dissolving to ash.

Her son is safe - short of the damning wound, dark crimson on his neck - but that moment of distraction has a high cost, because one of the shorter vampires has crept up on her from behind, and his fangs are at her nape when I feel a pull on my magic as Baz explodes from next to me.

“ **_Stop it!_ ** ”

The images blip out of existence in the space of a moment, and I’m left breathing hard, tears stinging my eyes. I blink them away and wipe off my cheeks, because some old preservation instinct doesn’t want Baz to see me crying. 

I keep waiting for something else to happen, but nothing does. The room is still, utterly quiet besides the sound of our loud breaths. 

I feel like someone has come and yanked all of my internal organs out of place. Wrong and ill and on edge without anything to be done about it, because what we were watching is a memory. I can’t change any of it. Then it strikes me that this must only be a tiny fraction of what Baz is feeling.

I reach out to put my hand on his shoulder, but he jerks it away from me.

“Hey-” I try, but my voice is too husky. I clear my throat and try again. “Baz.”

But then I don’t say anything else. Not because I can’t, but because I don’t know what to say. I know what was about to happen. If we had watched a minute longer.

I chew my bottom lip for a moment and pretend I don’t notice that he’s crying.

But before I can come up with what I should say or do, he’s walking away from me and trying to open the door. He curses, mutters the reversal for the locking spell he used earlier. Then he grabs the knob again, and the door goes flying open so hard that it makes a loud  _ crack _ against the wall, and I’m surprised it doesn’t fly off its hinges.

“Wait-” I say to his rapidly retreating form.

“Don’t you dare follow me, Snow,” he throws back, voice hoarse.

For once, I obey.

I pace back and forth in this mysterious room with its dark, sad secrets. I look around it again, and the rabbit on the ceiling is probably supposed to look happy, but instead, it looks ominous. The ghostly figures are still gone, but I can still hear the screams and snarls playing over and over again in my head. I can still see the head vampire going up in flames, hear the frightened voice of the one who ran away. Nico.

Most of all, I can hear the terrified shriek as a tiny Baz calls for his mother, just before she dies.

A chill runs down my spine, and I shudder.

No wonder this room has hidden itself away. I know what the odd, cold feeling is I’ve been feeling since entering the room. It’s sadness.

The last thing I want to do is stay in here. My feet are itching to go after Baz - though I don’t even know what I would do if I found him - and the tips of my fingers are cold even though I’m never cold and the classrooms in the Weeping Tower are supposed to be spelled to the optimal temperature. 

This must be what it feels like to be haunted, and it’s awful.

I know I should look for clues, that I should try to figure out why this is the rabbit’s den, but I can’t stand staying in here much longer. This room is designed to be comforting, but right now, it’s the opposite. It feels simultaneously menacing and endlessly sad. Even the shadows in the corners seem ominous.

But I force myself to stay. Just in case we can’t get the spell to work again or the room decides to hide itself away somewhere harder to get into, like the Cloisters or the Mage’s office. This could be my only chance to figure out what the dragon was talking about -  _ hidden in the rabbit’s den _ .

But nothing seems to be concealed in here. There aren’t any doors except the one. A high, long window runs along the opposite wall, but it reveals nothing but blackness beyond. The only possibility is a row of empty cubbies built into the wall by the door, hanging over a few cabinets.

Cautiously, I peer into each of the cabinets. They’re all empty. I run my fingers along the top of the cubbies above my head, but I don’t feel anything. I examine the wallpaper print and the murals, but I don’t see a wolf anywhere. I don’t find a single thing that could be considered a clue.

The sick feeling in my stomach intensifies. We wasted all this time and went through all of this...for nothing. It was just a dead end.

I scrub my hands over my face and kick the wall.

Not hard enough to break it, and honestly not hard enough to really even feel satisfying, so I kick at it again.

As I do, my gaze falls on the sun painted on one of the walls. It makes me think of the strange symbol on the pocket square of the one vampire. Nico. The one who got away.

Maybe Nico was supposed to be our clue. I don’t think he’s the wolf - he seemed more like a scared sheep. But the blond one had said they were hired for what they were doing. Which means someone had to be behind it, someone who wasn’t there. 

Maybe  _ that _ person is the wolf.

And Nico can lead us to them.

It makes perfect sense. For a moment, I’m excited to tell Baz that I think I’ve figured it out. I’ll actually have good news when I see him back at the room.

...Except the news is that someone hired vampires to attack his school, and possibly to kill his mum. Whether or not that’s what they intended, it’s what happened.

I feel sick again.

Taking one last glance around the room, I flick off the light and open the door to step out into an empty hallway. I cast  **_you shall not pass_ ** after shutting the door behind me and hope it stays put. The moment I step away, the door fades back into the wall like it had never been there in the first place. But when I put my hand to the wall, I can still feel the that chilly sensation. It’s still there.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

I make my way back to Mummers House through the darkness. Thankfully there are no secret spells or anything to get in and out of the Tower, since the Mage and his men operate at all hours. Thinking of the Mage brings up a whole other slew of thoughts and emotions, but I shove them aside.

A part of me wants to go find Baz, to make sure he’s okay. But I also don’t want to talk about what we just saw, not right now. I don’t have the right words.

But he’ll come back to the room eventually.

I pace the room, rehearsing what I’m going to say when he returns. 

I’m briefly interrupted by a message from Striker, but I don’t even look at the contents before I shut off my phone and toss it in the drawer. I’ll text him back tomorrow. (We’re good again, thanks to a disastrous match between ManU and Liverpool yesterday that gave us something to chat about.) Right now, Baz is all I can focus on. Baz and...what we saw.

What are you supposed to say to someone when you witness him being bitten by a vampire and almost see his mother’s murder?

( _ Bitten by a vampire _ . I saw it, right in front of my own eyes. I have confirmation that I was right, all these years, but I don’t feel victorious or even vindicated. Instead, I feel a bit like a hollow shell with a terrible case of heartburn.)

By the time I think I might have something approaching the right thing to say, it’s late, I’m impatient, and Baz still hasn’t returned.

My jaw cracks in a yawn, the stress of the second half of the day catching up with me. Finally, I resort to homework to kill the time, but the words blur before my eyes. I sigh and watch the clock, deciding that if he isn’t back by midnight, I’m going to go after him. (He’s in the catacombs. I’d stake my magic on it.)

I watch the clock until it goes fuzzy in my vision, and the last thing I remember is thinking, “Seven minutes left,” before I drift off into darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can blame me (nodus) for the angst. i made wren (swansaloft) suffer and now you all must too <3

**BAZ**

  
  


I don’t wait to see if the nursery door disappears after hearing it slam shut behind me. I take off at a run down the halls and all but fly down the stairs.

For once in his life, Snow listens to me. He doesn’t follow me, and I thank every higher power for it. There is no way in hell I would be able to handle his questions or accusations right now. Not after that.

There are voices and the scraping of silverware on plates as I pass the dining hall. It must be getting late, but I don’t stop to check the clock before sprinting out the front doors. I make for the White Chapel, race up the steps two at a time, throw open the doors, and continue past the pews into the opening that leads down into the catacombs. Moving faster through the winding, twisting halls that feel smaller and darker than they ever have, I’m vaguely aware that my face is wet with silent tears.

I don’t stop running until I’m standing in front of the wall where my mother’s name is etched into the stone. I know she’s not actually here, that the only minuscule piece of her that is here is me. 

Chest heaving and lungs burning, I let everything catch up with me. Something bubbles in my throat. A wretched noise comes from deep within my chest. I can’t help the cry that breaks through me. It weighs my whole body down. I don’t fight it and place both hands on the cool stone, hang my head in a mixture of shame and the need to curl into a ball.

Once the sobs start, there’s no stopping them. I half-heartedly try to hold back, but it’s pointless. The floodgates open in my chest, and I am powerless to stop the overflow. 

My head is spinning. My stomach is turning. I feel faint, like I’m hyperventilating. All that comes out of me are choked sobs before I suck in enough air to keep myself from passing out. I try to calm my breathing, counting in four and breathing out four, with the occasional shudder.

She was right there. 

My mother was there, I saw her. I can’t recall a time when she looked more fierce, and I just wish it hadn’t been because of  _ that _ . 

The vampires. 

A phantom burning sensation runs from the back of my neck, down into my chest, and my stomach tries to turn inside out. Turning to lean against the wall, I let my stomach wrench. Since I haven’t fed since last night or eaten since breakfast, acid burns my throat, and I cough, hacking up nothing but bile.

Everything hurts so much.  _ Everything _ . 

A bit of reality slips in, and I quiet all at once, the traces of my sobs echoing for a few seconds before the catacombs fall into total silence but for my breath. Nothing feels real.

I dig my nails into my scalp, and it stings.

Good, I haven’t gone completely numb. Yet.

But I wish I would. Then I wouldn't have to deal with this, with anything. I could forget and move on.

That’s not going to happen, though.

I know what was about to happen before I screamed for that memory or replay or whatever it was, to stop.

I forced myself for years to not think about that day. But there it was, playing before my eyes, and now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it.

I can’t keep pretending I don’t remember.

My mother went up in flames not moments after the phantom bodies vanished.

“Tyger, tyger,” a repressed memory echoes in my mind. “Burning bright.”

I crouch down to curl into a ball, hands buried in my hair. I grit my teeth and suck in as much air as my lungs can hold, and then let it out in a cry that bounces off the walls. It’s deafening and echoes for several seconds, but I doubt anyone outside the dark halls of the catacombs could hear me.

Honestly, I don’t even care at this point. So I let out another cry, and another, and another until my voice breaks and all that comes out of me are shattered sobs.

I pray that I’ll go numb and squeeze my eyes shut. But when I close my eyes, all I can see is my mother fighting the vampires. I can see the flames and other children running. The memory makes my neck burn just like it had that day. The pain was so much, I don’t think I would have lived through it if my father and Fiona hadn’t bombarded me with healing spells until their magic went dry.

There’s no bite mark that the naked human eye can see, but I can still see it just on the edge of my right shoulder when I look in the mirror. I cross my left arm over my chest and cup the old, healed wound, nails digging into my skin there as if I could cover it up and pretend it never happened.

But it did.

And Snow watched it happen.

My stomach spins again. I lean heavily on the wall I’m crouched in front of with my forearm and take a deep breath.

“He saw,” I rasp, my voice thick from abuse. “He  _ saw _ !”

As if things couldn’t get any worse. Now he has definitive proof of what he’s been trying to tell everyone for years.

By the time I crawl out of the catacombs, I’m sure he’ll have the Mage’s men waiting for me.

Will they stake me right away, or will I get a trial?

If they kill me here, maybe they’ll bury my ashes here with my mother.

For some reason that pulls out a dry laugh out of me. As if the Mage would  _ ever _ be so kind. (Especially to me. A Pitch.)

It takes all of my mental energy to shut down that line of thinking. I have enough suicidal ideation, I don’t need any more.

I don’t need any of this, honestly.

The walls suddenly feel too close, the room too dark. I glance back at the wall dedicated to my mother, eyes pricking with fresh tears.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper before standing to head back through the maze of halls.

I need air. I can’t breathe down here right now.

I stumble down the dark halls and finally up the steps, panting and leaning against the stone walls for support until I reach the chapel. Crawling into a bench, I draw my legs to my chest, face buried into my knees. My body shakes as the tears keeps coming.

Something hollow settles in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

I wish I wasn’t alone right now, but there is no way in hell I’m going back to our room. Once upon a time, Snow was this weirdly comforting presence, our animosity a steadfast constant to cling to, but not tonight. Not ever again.

He has his proof, and he has the Mage, and he’s a loyal lapdog. My life is now on borrowed time.

Feeling sick again, but with nothing to give, I move to lay down on the pew. The position makes my phone dig into my hip, so I fish it out of my pocket.

I sniff loudly and turn the screen on. No messages. No texts. There’s just a smiling selfie of Mordelia and me that I took in our backyard while she sat in my lap, along with the few apps I actually use.

My chest pings when my thumb automatically taps the Discord app.

If I can’t go back to the room, maybe I can pretend to not be alone with Pugs.

Summoning some courage and trying to make sense of my thoughts, I’m half filtering myself as I start typing.

  
  


**(Today at 10:09 pm)**

**PitchStriker: Bear with me, I’m a bloody mess right now.**

**PitchStriker: I’ve royal fucked it up with my roommate. I’ve ruined any and every chance there could have ever been.**

**PitchStriker: He’s seen the worst of me. He knows the worst in me**

**PitchStriker: I’m pretty sure he hates me. How could he not? All I do is make his life a living hell, and for no reason.**

**PitchStriker: I pretend to hate him, and yet I’m helplessly in love with him.**

  
  


Though I didn’t say it out loud, just seeing the typed out confession makes my heart beat faster. 

I am in love with Simon Snow, and I have been for a long time. I just didn’t let myself believe it until a few years ago. He’s a clumsy half-wit, a messy roommate with absolutely atrocious table manners, but that’s never stopped me from knowing how kind and thoughtful he is, how selfless he can be in the name of what is just and right.

And sometimes, when I watch him, I catch these small glimpses when he thinks no one’s looking. Like when he’s at the end of a staircase, he’ll hope off the last step every single time, no matter if he’s in a rush or not. At first I thought it was childish, but it’s just so unapologetically Simon that I have to hide a smile when I see him do it. Other actions of his speak louder to who he his; kind and true. In all the times I’ve gotten Snow to go off, he has never once hurt another person because of it. He never hesitates once he’s put his mind to something with that little chin jut he does. 

I hate him for burning brightly like the sun, and myself for being a hopeless comet falling into his orbit. Always, always falling.

Things would be so much easier if I could just forget about him, if he would disappear. (Who am I kidding, if he vanished without a trace, I would hunt him down and kill whoever stole him from the world. From me.)

And yet it’s my last year with him and I can barely look him in the eye without making a complete arse of myself. That’s because I’m afraid of him. I’m afraid to care and to get hurt. It absolutely terrifies me that he has this kind of power over me and he doesn’t even know it.

I take a steadying breath and wipe my eyes roughly with the heel of my palm.

Crowley, I wish things were different. Sometimes I wish I had done things differently since the moment I shook his hand in front of the Crucible.

  
  


**(Today at 10:18 pm)**

**PitchStriker: I just wish things were different.**

**PitchStriker: I could really use someone right now who understands, but I have no one.**

**PitchStriker: Fuck, I feel stupid.**

  
  


I stare at the words on the screen, words that I have actually typed out and sent. To another person. I’m a fucking idiot. This is definitely going to scare Pugs away.

  
  


**(Today at 10:20 pm)**

**PitchStriker: Actually, please ignore me.**

**PitchStriker: Sorry**

  
  


I close Discord and then completely shut my phone off, shoving it deep into my other pocket so I can finally lay down on the bench. Curling up as best I can, I shut my eyes and will myself to sleep.

—

In the morning I wake before the sun, stiff and exhausted. My vision’s blurry, and I can only imagine how bloodshot my eyes are. My hair is sticking to my face and probably standing straight up. I try to tame it with my fingers, and after a few stretches that crack my back, I sneak out of the chapel and back into the room easily. Snow is asleep in his bed, and for just a moment I pause to watch him breathe. He’s still in his clothes from last night with a hand reaching for his alarm clock. 

I tear my gaze from him to my wardrobe and gather things to shower so I can head to breakfast, all before he even wakes. All throughout breakfast I sit with my back to the room. I pointedly ignore Agatha’s morning greetings.Niall and Dev still sit with me, but they seem to understand I don’t feel like chatting and keep silent while they sip tea.

Since it’s Monday, we have classes. Which means we have Magic Words together. Which means I skip that class because I don’t think I could handle sitting next to him, let alone speaking to him. In the other classes we do share, I make sure I’m the last person through the door and the first to leave. I refuse to give him any opportunity to try and corner me. Snow seems to heed my silent request to leave me alone and lets me pick at my food in peace during lunch, the feel of his eyes on me still strong.

I do not go back to our room after classes finish for the day. Instead I make for the library to do my homework, skip dinner, then head to the catacombs. 

Mid-stride up the steps to the White Chapel, I slow to a stop and feel fresh tears start to well. I can’t face my mother’s grave, the pain of last night still burning hot along my right shoulder, and the shame still twisting in my gut. The combined weight pulls me away from the chapel, so I turn and run away.

Instead I head into Wavering Wood to feed and make it back onto school grounds just before the draw bridge is raised for the night. For a brief moment I think about heading back to our room, but I know Snow is there. I can see the light on in our tower from out on the dark grounds. Instead, I spend hours on the ramparts watching the trees off in the woods rustling in the cool night’s wind. Wish I’d brought my jacket, but I suffer in peace, holding myself and killing time until it’s late enough that Snow will be asleep.

I do this all week, dancing around Snow and avoiding him at every turn. It’s torture to feel his gaze on me during meals and in classes we share, and it’s made all the worse as I starve myself of gazing at  _ him _ . I’m scared to find silent accusations in his blue eyes. Or worse, pity. 

I skip every Magic Words class that week, sleep only a handful of hours, and I have not stepped foot in the catacombs or White Chapel since the rabbit’s den incident. Instead I stick to the Weavering Woods, hating every moment of it because it’s bloody November and cold and all I can do is hunt and then sit and think when left to my own devices. It’s hard not to think about the nursery, but by the end of the week I’ve shut that door in my mind and spelled it closed, numbing myself to it all over again.

Come Friday, I sneak off the grounds into the woods once again during Magic Words class. I left my bag in the library, but brought my phone with me. I haven’t turned it back on since shutting it off Sunday.  Deep enough into the woods I’m pretty sure where no wandering eyes from the tower can see me, I settle onto the grass in a clearing to check my messages and texts.

There’s something from Pugs, and when I read it, it feels like I can breathe again.

Because suddenly I don’t feel so alone.

  
  


**SIMON**

  
  


Baz is avoiding me.

Again.

He barely comes to our room, even to sleep, and he’s been up before me every morning.

It’s throwing off our whole normal rhythm. 

Not that we have one anymore. It used to be silence, always silence, broken only by scowls and growls and the occasional fist. Now we have a truce and a project and secrets on top of secrets. It’s all mixed up and confusing, and I purposefully don’t think about what’s going to happen when the truce is over.

I consider following him, which is what I would normally do, to make sure he isn’t plotting. 

But that’s the problem. This time, I don’t think he’s up to anything evil. For once he isn’t plotting. He’s just hurting. And I can’t fix it.

He’s a vampire. His mum is dead. This isn’t anything new. Logically, there’s nothing I should have to do. I should just go up to him and pretend everything is normal and tell him about Nico and ask him what we should do next about the prophecy. Maybe that’s what he would want me to do. Maybe that’s what I  _ should _ do. He clearly doesn’t want my sympathy.

Unfortunately, he also doesn’t want my company, which he makes abundantly clear by turning away from me any time I start toward him in the halls.

I decide to ask Penny when we’re sitting in the library between classes on Tuesday afternoon.

“What do you do when someone is avoiding you?”

“Oh, Simon. Is she avoiding you again? I thought you two were doing better.”   
  


“Huh? Who?” I ask, frowning over at her from over my book.

Her brows draw down until her expression matches mine. “Agatha. Who are you talking about?”

Stupidly, I feel a flush begin to creep up the back of my neck. “No one. Just, uh. Asking in general.”

Penny stares at me until her eyebrows, ever on the move, leap up in comprehension. “Oh. Baz.”

I mutter something about getting to class and start to gather my things. Our classes are in different directions, so I figure she’ll let me go, but I miscalculated her need to be nosy. She isn’t dissuaded at all, just follows right along beside me.

“What happened?”

That’s the problem. I want to tell her, but it isn’t my secret to tell. And though neither of the things I saw - or nearly saw - are secrets (well, the being a vampire thing might  _ technically  _ be a secret, but I’ve also been shouting about it for years, so...), it feels like secret-like. It’s certainly private. 

“We had...a fight. About our spell.”

It’s not  _ entirely _ a lie. It did start with a spell. And now that I think about it, we probably don’t have to do research for our Eighth Year Spell anymore, since Baz already made one.

Silver lining, I guess.

“You two always fight.”

“Yeah, well.” I give a one-shouldered shrug and maneuver around a group of third years gathered in the hallway. “This was a different.”

“Different how?”

I blow out a gust of air. “Forget it.”

“I can’t give you advice if you won’t give me the facts. Did you do something or did he?”

“Neither. Both. I don’t know.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, scraping a hand through my hair. “Just drop it. Forget I asked, okay?”

“Okay. Just tell me something.”

“No guarantees.”

“Why are you upset about it? Doesn’t Baz usually avoid you? You two aren’t exactly known for being the best of friends.”

“This is different.”

“Yeah, you’ve only said that a hundred times. I get it. But Si,  _ why _ ?”

“It’s...a whole thing. I can’t get into it. I was helping him with something, things went wrong, and now we’re here.”

“If it’s something you think he’s actually got a right to be upset about, give him some space. Let him get over it.”

“Yeah, because that has historically worked so well,” I say, sarcasm heavy on my lips. “Not like he’s held a pointless grudge against me for seven years or anything.”

Penny shrugs. “You asked for my advice. I gave it. I even willingly engaged in a conversation about He Who Shall Not Be Named in the process. You’re welcome. Now, I have to get to class.”

She turns and makes her way back in the opposite direction, and I think over her words during class and decide to try it.

So even though it goes against all my natural instincts, I give him space. I spend time with Penny and Agatha and play football and hang out with Rhys and Gareth. I even take up running, taking a path through the Wavering Wood every afternoon after tea. (It’s bloody miserable. Why do people do this to themselves?)

It’s Wednesday afternoon during Magic Words - which Baz has skipped  _ again _ \- when I realize that I never texted Striker back. I never even looked at his messages.

I check to make sure Miss Possibelf is distracted and slip my mobile out of my pocket, positioning a dusty old tome to block it from her line of vision.

  
  


**(4 Days Ago, at 10:09 pm)**

**PitchStriker: Bear with me, I’m a bloody mess right now.**

  
  


My eyes gobble up the rest of the words, all the way up to the last message.

  
  


**I could really use someone...I have no one...I pretend to hate him...helplessly in love with him...ignore me.**

  
  


My heart is thumping out of my chest, and I can’t stop staring at my phone.

“Mr. Snow.  _ Simon. _ ” I look up to see Miss Possibelf staring at me, and I have no idea how many times she said my name before I processed it.

“Yes?”

“I asked how the research was going. Have you had any luck with your spell so far?”

“Some. Not really. We’re, um,” I clear my throat, trying to get my thoughts straight. “We’re thinking of going in a different direction, actually.”

“Oh, really?” She looks interested. “It’s a bit late for that, but if you think you have a strong start elsewhere, you probably still have time.”

I nod, and my head feels like a puppet. Like it isn’t even attached to my body anymore. 

“Perhaps you could convince Mr. Pitch to attend class on Friday,” she says in a tone I can’t read. Honestly, I can barely hear her. “And then the two of you can update me”

I nod again. 

That seems to be the right answer, because she moves on to the next table. I breathe a sigh of relief and slip my mobile back into my pocket.

I won’t risk texting him back now, and I’m not sure what I would say anyway.

(This is beginning to be a theme in my life lately, and I hate it.)

Instead of doing spell research, I spend the last ten minutes drafting things to say in response to Striker’s messages and tossing them in the bin. As soon as class is over, I duck into a nearby supply closet to text him back.

I start simply.

  
  


**PugsNotDrugs: hey. sorry i didn’t see your messages til just now. we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.**

  
  


I chew on my lip, trying to get the words right, and then it comes to me. Something a teacher said to me, back when I was a littlun.

Before I came to Watford, I used to loathe school. I was always fighting, and the teachers either hated me for causing trouble or pitied me for my hand-me-down clothes.

But there was one in fourth year. He wasn’t my teacher. I had only ever seen him on lunch duty, and I never even knew his name. But one day during lunch, he broke up a fight between me and this fifth year named Colin who was always being an arsehole. I hadn’t started it - he had. (Most of my fights started like that, but I never admitted it.)

For once, Colin was actually picked out as the one to blame, and he was sent to the office while the teacher knelt down in front of me.

“Let’s get you to the nurse,” he said, and his eyes were kind. He was still young. Not old enough to hate kids like a lot of the teachers seemed to.

But that didn’t mean I was going to be stupid enough to trust him.

“’m fine.”

He just looked at me for a few seconds, and those eyes seemed to see more than I wanted him to. “It’s okay, you know.”

I gave him the best glower I could manage while my nose was still dripping blood. “What?”

“It’s okay to not be okay.”

I just sniffed and wiped at my nose with my sleeve and held my head up high. “Well, I am.” I marched off to go clean myself up, and he didn’t say anything further.

I don’t think he ever spoke to me again. But I think of those words, every so often. They’ve helped me.

And now it’s time to pass them along.

  
  


**PugsNotDrugs: just know this**

**PugsNotDrugs: it’s okay to not be okay.**

  
  


He doesn’t reply that day or the next. When Friday rolls around, I don’t feel like going to Magic Words class to face interrogation by Miss Possibelf about our new spell. Besides, it’s pointless without Baz anyway.

Instead, I head to the Wavering Wood for a run.

I could probably do something more useful - comb through more copies of the  _ Magickal Record  _ looking for mentions of a “Nico” or “Nicholas” or any other similar name. I’m sick of looking at books and thinking about things I can’t do anything about and not moving forward. Penny said at lunch that she thinks she’s found a promising lead about the dragon prophecy, but it’s not the first time, and I doubt it will amount to anything.

Dragons just aren’t supposed to be able to communicate like that, full stop. Something else is going on. Magic is messed up for some reason, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it and the Mage isn’t around to-

I run faster, my feet pounding on the dirt path that weaves through the dense pines. A stitch starts to pull at my side, and my breath is slamming in and out like I’ve run a marathon, even though it’s only been a couple minutes. I love the way it smells out here, though. And I like how the trees block everything out. It’s just me. No magic. No problems.

(Other than the whole breathing thing. I slow down a bit to help that.)

Instead, I can just  _ be _ .

I fall into a zone where I don’t think about anything, not even Baz. Just the pattern of my feet, slamming into the ground.  _ Step step in step step out _ .

I could see it being a kind of trance if I were better at it. 

Instead, the stitch in my side intensifies, and I have to stop for a minute and take a few deep breaths. There’s probably a better way to go about this, but well. This is what it is.

I start up again.

_ Step step, in, step step, out. _

I go more slowly this time, and breathing is a little easier. I’m able to find a kind of rhythm until I round a corner in the path and almost collide with a person leaning against the large tree trunk, mobile in hand.

I stumble to a halt, and my apology dies in my throat when I see that it’s Baz.

I’m suddenly glad for my panting, because it gives me an excuse for not saying anything right away. I haven’t seen him up close in days, and there are dark smudges beneath his eyes. But the expression in them...I can’t read it, but it’s not at all what I expected. 

“Hi,” I venture cautiously. Given the past few days, I expect him to ignore me and stalk off in the other direction.

Instead, he straightens so he’s no longer leaning against the tree. His eyes are wary, but he might actually-

“Hi.”

I’ve had this conversation in my head fifty times by now, but suddenly every single word I know seems to vanish.

“You didn’t tell the Mage.”

“No,” I say immediately. “I wouldn’t. And I mean, he wasn’t here anyway, so-” I bite my tongue and reach up rub the back of my neck, and my palm comes away sweaty. Gross. I wipe it away on my shirt and try to think of something else to say. I want to ask if he’s okay.

“Right. Well. Good.”

I hum noncommittally and shove my hands into the pockets just to have something to do with them.

“Heading back to Mummers?” I say, even though I wasn’t really planning on it.

“Alright,” 

We make our way back toward our room and the path feels more narrow than it ever has. The silence stretches.

Just as we make it out of the trees, I spot Ebb only a stone’s throw away. I don’t think she’s seen us yet, but she’s walking toward the trees. I wince and catch Baz’s attention, jerking my head back toward the Wood.

But we don’t even get a chance to hide before Ebb sees us. She waves enthusiastically, shouting, “Ahoy, Simon!”

I wave back as she approaches, and her grin drops almost imperceptibly, glancing back and forth between Baz and me. “Everything okay here?”

I nod. “We’re fine.”

“Why aren’t you in class?”

I feel the tips of my ears begin to burn as I filter through my thoughts for a convincing lie, but Baz is there first.

“We were practicing our Eighth Year Spell. We have Magic Words right now, and Miss Possibelf gave us permission to practice outside. We’ve been having some...adverse reactions.” He sounds just embarrassed enough to sell it, and she buys it completely.

“Ah,” Ebb nods. “Makes sense. Tricky business, inventing spells. I’m right good at magic, but I was bloody terrible at coming up with spells. Thankfully I had-” she stops abruptly, eyes going wide. For a second, I think she was about to blurt some terrible secret, but then she reaches for a hanky. Of course. She’s just going to cry. It’s what Ebb does.

Her eyes begin to fill with tears, and she clears her throat, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

“Anyway. Simon, come see me soon, eh? Been too long.”

She throws a quick glance back at the the goats where they’re meandering quietly on a far hill, then continues on her way into the trees.

I meet Baz’s eyes and mouth  _ thank you _ , and he winks at me and continues on the path of Mummers.

I’m so startled that I don’t move for a moment.

But when I rush to catch up with him, he veers off toward the Weeping Tower. I bite back a sigh of disappointment, thinking that he must be defaulting back to ignoring me. But I thought we had a moment, there in the Wood. That maybe we were-

“Hey.” His voice interrupts my thoughts, and I halt in place, gazing at him. He looks even worse out here in the open, eyes sunken and skin more ashen than usual.   
  


“We should get to work on,” he glances around, even though the courtyard is deserted since classes are still in session, “our project.”

I nod, probably too enthusiastically. “Yeah.”

“I want to look something up first. But tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I move toward Mummers with a new spring in my step. Everything’s falling back into place. I can tell him about Nico. He knows all about the Families; I’m sure he’ll know something. A better path to finding this mystery vampire, if nothing else.

And maybe Penny really  _ has _ figured something out about the dragon. 

When I get back to our room, I whip out my mobile to text her, and I find a notification from Striker.

It’s just one word:  **thanks** .

I feel a little silly sometimes, using emojis when he never does, but I immediately shoot back a smiley one.

I take a deep breath.

Everything’s shaping up.

And now it’s time to take down the wolf.


	10. Chapter 10

**SIMON**

 

When Baz enters our room that night, a full-size chalk board floats in behind him.

I sit up from where I’d been lying back, playing Strike Force on my mobile, and I gape at it. “What’s that?”

“What’s it look like, Snow?”

“I know what it _is_. I just mean, where’d it come from? Why’d you take it?”

“I think better when I write things down. Probably a foreign concept to you, but I like to keep things organized.”

I start to glower at him, but it turns into an easy laugh. “Yeah, fair enough.” I shift until my bare feet hit the floor, and it’s cold, so I draw them back up until I’m sitting cross-legged on the edge of my bed. “So…”

I’m not sure how to start, or if he wants to.

He clears his throat, marks several neat columns on the board, and begins writing.

_Prophecy:  
_ _Dragon (How? Bunce investigating.)_

I break in, “She thinks she has a lead, actually.”

Baz turns back toward me. “Really?”

I nod. “She won’t tell me what, but she’s really excited about it. She’s going home next weekend and has to check her family’s library to see if it’s legit. Says she’ll tell me if it ‘merits further mention.’” I use air quotes to emphasize the fact that these are Penny’s words (even though it’s pretty obvious - I’ve never used the word “merit” in my life).

Baz frowns. “Why won’t she tell you?”

I shrug. “She says that it may be nothing. Doesn’t want to get my hopes up. We’ve already had three leads that ended up nowhere, so this one’ll probably end the same. Hopefully, not, though,” I add, as his frown deepens.

Baz makes a noncommittal noise and turns back to the board, continuing down the column.

_Rabbit’s Den (Nursery)  
_ _Wolf (?)_

He hesitates after writing that last word, then speaks, never turning away from the board. “Did you find out anything about the wolf? After...”

I don’t make him finish. If he wants to pretend we’re picking up right after the nursery, I’m more than happy to play along. Besides, this is what I’ve been itching to tell him.

“Sort of.”

That gets him to turn around, and he gazes at me with surprised interest.

“Really? You got something?”

I nod, feeling unaccountably proud. “I searched the whole room, cabinets, cubbies, everything and didn’t find anything about a wolf. So it made me think: why would the prophecy send us there? There had to be _something_. Then I realized. There’s a reason we were made to watch…you know. I think the reason was Nico.”

Baz’s eyebrows lower. “Who’s Nico?”

“The-the one who ran away. Remember? The one who didn’t want to be there, and when he saw...he ran away.”

I see the comprehension dawn on Baz’s face. “He survived.”

I nod. “Exactly. I think whoever sent…” I bite my lip, then rush on. “Whoever sent the vampires is the wolf. And Nico is the key. He’s the only one who survived who might be able to tell us who was behind the attack. I know we’ve always been taught it was the Humdrum, but after hearing them...I don’t think it was. It was a _person_. Someone they could talk to. Someone who intentionally-”

I break off just as the piece of chalk snaps in between Baz’s fingers.

I watch him take a slow, deep breath, and then cast, “ **_Together again_ **,” in a tone as bored as if he were ordering tea.

But his hand shakes as he does it, just a bit.

I pretend I don’t notice and go on to explain about Nico and the sun symbol. “I thought maybe it was some sort of family crest, but I haven’t been able to find anything. So far.”

“Still. I think you’re onto something, Snow.”

It isn’t a _well done_ , but from Baz, it may as well be.

He turns back to the board and writes _NICO_ in large letters, and underlines it once. Then, _find the connection, find the wolf_.

I chew my lip and blurt out, “I want to help.”

“What?” he asks, absentmindedly, tapping the chalk against the side of his trousers as he surveys the board. It leaves the tiniest white, dusty mark, and he’s going to be annoyed when he notices.

“I want to help find whoever killed your mum.”

He doesn’t answer for a moment. I’d almost think he hadn’t heard me, except he goes utterly still.

Then he turns toward me, and I can’t meet his eyes. I pick at a loose thread at the hem of my jumper instead. “What are you talking about? You already are. The wolf, remember?”

“No, I mean,” I shake my head. “That’s the prophecy. This is...something different.” 

My cheeks are hot, and this is stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything. Why do words never come the way I want them to?

“You literally just said they were the same.”

“I’m saying I’d want to help you!” I explode, and something flashes in his eyes before they turn inscrutable again. I might be an expert in watching Baz, but sometimes trying to read him is like trying to make out the expression of someone on the other side of an iceberg. “Even if we weren’t doing the prophecy thing.”

“Why? Since when does the Mage’s Heir give a fuck about the Pitches?”

"It’s not about politics,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s about right and wrong. No one deserves to watch their mum die like that.”

He swallows, and I continue, shrugging. “And besides," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm good at solving mysteries. Ask anyone."  
  
Baz scoffs. "As if."  
  
"Hey! What about the centaurs last year?"  
  
"We all know that was Bunce, Snow," Baz says, turning back to the board. "You couldn't find a needle in a stack of needles."

“Found out about Nico, didn’t I?”

“Mm. Not exactly a revelation, but at least a path. Maybe you won’t prove _completely_ useless.”

I reach back and grab my pillow to chuck it at his head. He turns to me, eyes wide. “Anathema!” he warns, about three seconds too late, and I scoff.

“Pretty sure the Anathema knows you’re not gonna be taken down by a pillow.”

He peers at me and then pointedly puts one bestockinged foot onto my pillow where it’s fallen on the floor, followed by the other, until he’s standing on it completely. 

“Thanks. My toes were getting a bit chilly.”

“Gross. Get your feet off my pillow.”

“So kind of you to start caring about your poor roommate’s health and comfort. After years without a whit of concern regarding my welfare, you’re so kind as to acknowledge I’m the one up here, doing all the hard work-”

“Baz! Shut up and get off!” I interrupt his monologuing, reaching a leg out to try to shove him off. It’s totally ineffective; I barely even brush his calf. Still, he smirks and steps off, then kicks the pillow toward me.

“Now I’m going to have to wash it,” I complain, leaning down to try to grab it without leaving my perch on the bed.

“Please. Flopping down on that thing is the first thing you do after those ridiculous Mage adventures. I’ve seen you use it covered in werewolf blood. These socks are probably cleaner than your trousers.”

I look down at my joggers. “What’s wrong with these?”

“For starters, you’ve been wearing them for three days.”

“So? You’re allowed to wear trousers for three days. Four, if they don’t smell bad.”

“Where in Crowley’s name did you learn that? _A Guide to Dressing for the Fashionably Hopeless_?”

“I don’t even wear them the whole day! Just nights! They’re basically pajamas.”

“Why do I bother?” Baz rolls his eyes and turns back to the chalk board.

It’s a pointless exercise, as what we’ve already written is...basically all that we know. Baz jots down a few more things, but I’m pretty sure it’s just to fill up blank space and make the board look better.

“Tomorrow we start researching,” he says, dusting the chalk off his hands. He looks down at his trousers and notices the mark from earlier. Frowning, he brushes a few times until the stain is gone.

I nod. “I can meet you in the library. Show you what I’ve already covered. You might want to hit it again, though. I might’ve missed something.”

“You?” he says with a bit of sarcasm, but not nearly as much as he would normally dump into it.

“Sod off,” I return mildly. “I’m gonna go shower.” I grab some clean clothes and shut the door behind me, and when I return, he’s left to hunt.

And left the board on my side of the room.

He didn’t even spell it small. The git.

I can’t seem to summon up anything more than a _what else did I expect_ kind of annoyance, and I don’t feel like trying to spell it myself, so I just leave it. Instead, I grab my phone and check my notifications, finding a four-paragraph text from Penny ranting about Trixie, as well as a message from Striker.

 

**(Today at 10:48 PM)**

**PitchStriker: Pop quiz: Who would win in a fight, Pharah or Ana?**

 

I snort, flopping down on my bed before texting back.

 

**PugsNotDrugs: wth kind of question is that**

**PugsNotDrugs: pharah is her DAUGHTER**

**PugsNotDrugs: and also pharah has a fucking ROCKET SUIT that shoots bombs**

**PugsNotDrugs: so obviously pharah**

 

I see him start to respond immediately and grin, settling back into my pillow. (I don’t actually have another pillowcase, and it’s not like this one hasn’t seen worse than Baz’s socks.)

 

**PitchStriker: See, you went for the obvious answer, but I’m convinced otherwise.**

**PitchStriker: Ana’s badass. She’s the best sniper besides Widowmaker. She’d nail Pharah before she even knew she was there.  
**   


**PugsNotDrugs: agree to dissagree  
**   


**PitchStriker: *Disagree  
**   


**PugsNotDrugs: look at me over here not caring  
**   


**PitchStriker: You should always care about proper spelling. Job prospects and all that.  
**   


**PugNotDrugs: trust me when it comes to my future, spelling is the last thing i’ll have to care about**

 

I snort to myself. Well, not the kind of spelling a Normal like Striker would know about, anyway.

 

**PitchStriker: Suit yourself.**

 

I tell him I’m going to sleep, then yawn and toss my phone aside. I fall asleep thinking about other random character match-ups, and wind up having a really weird dream where I’m playing Overwatch except I’m actually inside the game, and every player on the opposite team has Baz’s face.

It’s thoroughly disturbing.

Thankfully, when I wake up, Baz’s face is attached only to Baz himself. I wind up seeing his face a lot more than usual the entire weekend, since football season has officially ended, so we are free to do nothing except research. Though I do also convince him to let us practice our magic sharing on Saturday afternoon.

After all, if we’re going to do it with the showdown with the wolf, we need to have it down.

It definitely has nothing to do with the fact that I’m going to go cross-eyed if I look at one more family tree, all of them written in this awful, teeny tiny print.

When I say the exact same thing on Sunday after we’ve been in the library a couple hours, though, he raises an eyebrow. I think he knows I just need a break.

Surprisingly, he goes along with it without comment. We pack up and go back to the room, try casting a few more difficult spells. They float from his wand as easily as though he were casting first year tricks.

We’re on the third spell when it occurs to me that I never told him about the part where he can filter my magic. Obviously, he knows that he can use it. But he doesn’t know he can fix it and give it back to me.

He doesn’t know what it feels like for me. What it means. 

I don’t usually talk about feelings around Baz (other than the occasional, “You’re driving me fucking mental,” which is par for the course with us), but this is about more than feelings. This is about _magic_ , and maybe it’s a clue to why we can do what it is we do. I’m also sort of using him without his permission, and that feels wrong. I really should tell him.

( _But_ , a little voice inside me whispers, _what if he stops if he knows? What if it ruins everything?_ ) 

It stops the words in my throat.

I compromise and resolve to tell him tomorrow.

We go back to researching, and for the first time since the dragon, I’m glad when he pulls away, even though the magic is flowing light and buoyant in my veins. My mood is ruined, and I can’t shake the lingering, slightly guilty feeling, even though I resolve not to think about it. 

The mood isn’t broken until Dev and Niall come knocking, and Baz sends them away with the fakest, most theatrical yawn I’ve ever seen in my life. I almost keel over from the expression on Niall’s face before Baz slams the door in it.

Then Baz catches my eye, and I realize I’m smiling. Something about him noticing this makes my face heat for no reason, and I duck my head behind yet another copy of the _Record_ and focus on the search for Nico.

 

**BAZ**

 

“Baz?”

“Hmm?” I glance between the shelves at Snow, who’s not looking at the books. 

He’s looking at me. I look away, back to reading the spines, searching for certain dates.

“So uh,” he pauses, a freckled hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Those ordinary blue eyes flick between the books and me a few times before settling on the books. “So I was thinking...”

I glance at him and raise both brows in question, waiting. (Snow truly blusters like no one else.)

“Um, well.” He opens his mouth a few times then stills himself, taking a breath to calm down. “It’s about our spell, you see.”

I force my gaze off him and back to the small gold dates embossed on the books.

“I was thinking, cause y’know, I had all that time to during Magic Words last week,” he pauses here on purpose, and that makes me still completely, hand raised and mid-removing a copy of the _Magickal Record_. He waits a beat before continuing. “I was thinking that we could use the spell we did as our eighth year spell.” 

I know which one he means immediately, and I finish pulling the book off the shelf, tuck it under my arm, and hum in thought. To be perfectly honest, I’ve thought of this before. Forget Shakespeare, Owl City worked just fine.

“We could,” I say carefully, grabbing a couple more books while Snow just watches me between the shelves. “We’ve already got it to work. But we’d need to practice it more, test the limits and range. Then there’s the packet we’d have to fill out, but I have all my notes from the summer, so it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Thank Crowley vampires don’t burst into flames in the sun, because the grin Snow gives me damn near gives me second degree burns it’s so bright.

“Yeah?” He asks eagerly, and I see him bounce on his toes just a bit.

“Yes, Snow.” I sigh, schooling myself from enjoying his reaction. “It’s basically done, so we’ll have plenty of time for...everything else.”

“Brilliant!” 

“Yes, I know I am. Now, either help me find these copies, or carry on with your family crest research. We don’t have all day.”

His smile dims, but only a little. Without a word, he trots off in search of his own books, clearly giving the family crests another go.I hope he finds something soon, because if not then the symbol he’s remembering might not even be a family crest. We might have to expand into runes, and I doubt the Mage allows anything like _that_ in the Watford library. I might have to take a weekend to check the library at home. (Hopefully it won’t come to that.)

We meet at our table, laden with several books each, and settle into a comfortable silence,  but it never seems to last with Snow. 

“All of these are starting to look the same.” He lets the thick volume of _Magickal Family Trees and Crests_ thunk down onto the table and runs a hand down his face, groaning in frustration.

I glance up from my book and catch him carding a hand through his hair. Thank Crowley I don’t have enough blood in me to blush, because my eyes follow the movement of his hands, wishing they were my own. I catch the errant thought and sternly crush it, since it would probably be bad form to lust after your crush’s hair while reading about decade-old tragedies.

“Why don’t you switch it up,” I suggest once my eyes return to my reading. “Go back to looking for Nico for a bit, so your eyes don’t fall out.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I can see him blink at me a few times before silently getting up. I know from the direction he heads, he’s just going to grab more copies of the _Magickal Record_. It takes him no time at all to return with an armful and to sit back down beside me at the table. 

I draw my legs up in my chair to perch, my own volume of the _Record_ resting on my knees while I scan the pages. I’m looking for more than Nico, though. I’m looking for any and all vampire attacks or reports around the time of my mother’s death, and I flag anything that looks promising with post-its, noting it for a later, more thorough reading. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Snow folding down the corner of a page.

“Stop that, Snow. That’s why I brought us post-it notes, you dolt.” I shove an unopened package of the brightly colored paper at him.

“Sorry!” He shrinks down in his chair a few inches before sitting up taller (still shorter than me, always) and frowns, slowly undoing the dogear.

“That must be the sixth book you’ve defaced. No more. Use the post-its.” I wait until he gently puts one near the top of the page before I go back to reading my book.

There’s nearly a quarter of an hour in peace before it’s broken again. And not by Snow this time.

I can smell her and her magic before I see her. She always smells strongly of sage. 

“Simon?” I hear Bunce call through the stack of books before she rounds the corner.

Snow stiffens as if caught somewhere he shouldn’t be. (Which is right. He shouldn’t be here with me, of all people. But he is and we have a solid reason, even if it isn't the full truth.)

He shoots up out of his chair, nearly knocking it over.

“Penny!”

“Oh! There you are, Si.” She smiles at him briefly before catching sight of me.

“Bunce.” I nod my head in greeting then look back at my book.

“What are you two doing?”

Snow makes a noncommittal noise for just a little too long, so I clear my throat.

“Research for our spell,” I chime in without looking up at either of them.

“And what does the _Magickal Record_ have to do with your spell?”

I see her grab one of the books I’ve put several sticky notes in and start to open it. Dropping the volume I was holding into my lap, I snatch it from her before she can see the passages about vampire reports.

“That is none of your business, Bunce.”

She glares daggers down at me and huffs, hands on her hips. She turns her gaze from me to Snow, softening just a little. At least he finally sits down and has enough presence of mind to close his book, so she can’t see any headlines.

“Do you need help?”

I know this question isn’t directed to me, but I still answer ‘no’ at the same time Snow does. I scoff, and he glares at me for a second, then turns back to Bunce with an apologetic expression.

“I-uh,” Snow starts to try forming a sentence. “No, we’re alright.”

Bunce draws up a chair from another table to join us. Uninvited.

“Good,” she says, eyeing the volumes of the _Record_ with increasing curiosity. “I think this might be the first assignment I'll fail. Working with Trixie has been a bloody nightmare. She keeps trying to change our spell every other day. It’s November, we don’t have much time to finish.”

Snow snorts, smiling widely over the table at her. His whole body seems to relax with just being around her, both elbows on the table and leaning over it with his chin cupped.

“You’ve got time,” he promises. “It’s not due until April. Plus, you're brilliant, Pen.”

She lets out a loud sigh. “I’d prefer if we had it done before Christmas. I still have to create a new potion for Alchemy class.”

“Oh, yeah. How’s that goin’?”

_Crowley_. They’re making small talk.

I roll my eyes and lift the _Record_ I was reading to block my view of them, holding it in one hand while the other slips my mobile out of my pocket. There’s a new text from Fiona, joining several others I’ve ignored over the past couple weeks

 

**(13:08) F: Basilton, call me when you get out of class**

**(21:47) F: Call me**

**(08:43) F: Basilton**

**(16:29) F: Basil**

**(09:34) F: Stop ignoring me!**

**(22:28) F: I’ll call you sunday**

 

I continue to ignore her and leave her on read. I already have enough on my plate; I really don’t need Fiona on my case just this instant. She can wait until Sunday.

Instead I open Discord to check my messages from Pugs.

**(Monday at 10:58pm)**

**PugsNotDrugs: ok so what about widow vs ana  
**   
  


**(Tuesday at 11:54am)  
**   
**PitchStriker: Widowmaker, no contest.**

**PitchStriker: She was literally genetically altered to be a cold-blooded killer with perfect reflexes.  
**   
  
  
**(Tuesday at 9:53pm)  
**   
**PugsNotDrugs: didn’t help her against tracer**

 

I’m glad we've fallen back into our regular conversations. Sometimes I don’t know what to think of this. Of Pugs. He’s a Normal whose real name I don't even know. He’s someone I might possibly consider my best friend at this point. (I know I've got Dev and Niall, but it isn't the same. They're sort of a minion-friend hybrid, and I would _never_ show weakness in front of either of them. I have to maintain my de facto leader status.) 

But with Pugs, I can be human (well, as much as possible) around him. I can throw out emotions, and he's there and gives me just the right words and then ignores them like they never happened when that's what I want.

Maybe it's just that he treats me like an actual person, not like I'm Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

And it's... nice.

I glance up from my phone in time for Bunce to throw her arms out to the side in exasperation and Snow start laughing as she continues with her wild hand movements. I wonder if during holiday or after graduation, if Pugs and I are still friends, I might be able to ask him his name. Or if he’d like to meet up.

I wonder how we would get on in person. Maybe it would be as easy as it is for Snow and Bunce, talking about anything and nothing, and laughing. I like to think it might.

For just a moment I let myself smile before typing up a reply.

 

**(Today at 4:48pm)**

**PitchStriker: That’s because she’s secretly in love with Tracer, though. It’s different. One can’t just kill someone one’s in love with. Even if she’s supposed to be the enemy.**

 

After hitting send I allow my gaze to flick to the side where Snow is still talking to Bunce, even though I can feel their conversation winding down. It only takes him a few seconds to feel my eyes on him, but I look back down at my screen before he catches me. I start typing up another reply for Pugs when my train of thought is derailed.

“Oi, Baz.”

“What do you want?” I don’t even look up when he snatches the paper I was hiding behind.

“Stop texting your girlfriend and listen to me.”

I glance up at then, shutting the screen off and pocketing my mobile in one fluid motion.

“I wasn’t texting,” I lie cooly with a neutral expression.

He rolls his eyes. He knows I’m lying, but I don’t care. He can be suspicious all he wants.

“Alright,” he says, the single word dripping with annoyance. “Well, I’m goin’ to dinner with Penny. See you.”

I lock eyes with him for just long enough to have a silent conversation.

_We’ll pick back up on this tomorrow?_

_Of course, Snow._

He nods just once then starts to gather his books into piles. He puts two volumes of the _Magickal Family Trees and Crests_ in his bag. I start gathering my own books, packing the ones with sticky notes into my rucksack.

“I’ll shelve the rest of these,” I say, not bothering to look up as I take one of his piles into my arms.

I hear him take a breath as if to speak, but then he thinks better of it. Instead I hear the scraping of two chairs pulling out from the table while I head back among the shelves to place the books back in their proper homes.

 

**PENNY**

 

I fully understand that Simon and Baz are working on their eighth year spell together. I also understand that you need to spend time with your partner to work on said spell, and that there’s research and time poured into it. (Morgana, don’t I know. Don’t get me started on Trixie.)

But it doesn’t mean you have to spend _every_ waking moment with your spell partner. I only see Simon at meals now and maybe between classes.

I know jealousy isn’t becoming, but I’m really not jealous.

It’s just odd is all.

Simon always spends so much time _talking_ about Baz, but never actually spends time with him. I’m not sure he’d willingly do this even for a grade (Simon has never exactly been the most grade-motivated person). Even so, I don’t think there’s foul play involved. (Nicks and Slicks, I sound like Simon now!)

Still, it all rubs me the wrong way, especially when Simon still won’t give me any clue as to what their spell is or what it can do.

“It’s not much yet. We’re still working,” is all he says to me, then shrugs off any of my other questions.

(I love Simon dearly, but sometimes I can only take so many shrugs. Maybe I should limit those like I have with his ‘Baz is plotting’ conversations. Though those haven’t been a problem for at least a week, now that I think about it. Even before he started spending every spare moment with his alleged nemesis.)

It’s all a shade too suspicious, and I decide to take a page from Simon’s book and keep tabs on them.

I find them in the library two days in a row, though nothing definitively weird happens except that Simon going all blustery in that way that clearly means he’s hiding something.

And it gets weirder as the week continues. Simon still hanging around Baz, working on their spell and walking back from dinner together. I think about pointing it out to Agatha, but she leaves dinner before everyone else so there’s no room to talk to her.

Come Friday, I search the library before tea in hopes of finding Simon, so I can see him before I head home for the weekend with my mum. She sent me a text that she was going to be here soon to pick me up.

But neither him nor Baz are in their usual spot in the library, and since football’s over, Simon probably won’t be at the pitch. I think about checking some of the spare classrooms, but since I don’t feel like running around, I just cast **not all who wander are lost** to find Simon.

The spell leads me to Mummers House, and I have to wait for a line of boys to file out when tea is called before I can sneak in. After the crowd thins and I still haven’t seen Simon, I sigh to myself and slip inside, heading straight for the spiral staircase that leads up the turret.

As I near the top of the steps, I can hear Baz and Simon talking, their voices muffled through the door but still loud enough to make out if you’re close enough. I tip-toe forward until I am.

“Oh.” Baz says, and then there’s some footsteps.

“Yeah...I just wanted to tell you, y’know?” Simon says, almost apologetically.

Hm, interesting.

There’s a bit of silence, and I’m just out here in plain sight eavesdropping when I probably shouldn’t. (I definitely shouldn’t.)

“I-um...well, I just. I felt bad.” I hear Simon say in a small voice. “And I thought you ought to know?”

Baz scoffs, and I hear a book snap shut. “Does it work when you do it, at least?”

“Yeah! It works, and it… uh, it helps.”

“Well, good.” Baz says, and then there’s a pause before he continues. “Keep it up then, and maybe you won’t blow us all up, Snow.”

Simon startings laughing, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. It didn’t sound like a bad sort of conversation. I’m not entirely sure what they were on about to begin with, but at the sound of Simon still laughing and Baz asking him what’s so funny, I knock on the door.

Everything goes quiet suddenly, and there’s some shuffling before the door is drawn open.

Baz blinks down at me, his face going through a series of emotions from surprised, to curious, and then schooled back to neutral.

“Bunce. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Penny!” Simon nearly shouts while shutting their en suite bathroom door and then leaning against it in a way that’s probably supposed to be casual.

I open my mouth to say hello to both of them, but Baz cuts me off.

“What are you doing here? _How_ , rather?” He raises a curious eyebrow.

I simply tap my nose and step into the room. “It’s a secret, Basil.”

Baz huffs and shuts the door, turning towards his desk to tidy up.

“Anyway! My mum is going to be here soon. I just wanted to see if you’d like to come have dinner with us in the village before I head home.” This question is obviously posed for Simon, who perks up a bit.

“Oh, um,” Simon looks down and shuffles his feet. “I-I normally I would, Pen. But it’s roast beef tonight, and you know it’s my fav-”

“Favourite. Yes, I know.” I smile.

“Well,” Baz clears his throat. “This has been lovely, truly. Have a good weekend, Bunce.”

Both Simon and I watch him finish pulling on his coat and a scarf before slipping past me to head out.

I wait until I can’t hear his foot steps anymore and then turn to Simon. “You don’t think he’s going to get a professor, do you?”

Simon wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Nah. I doubt it. He knows you’re going home to research the dragon. He’s curious about what you might find.” 

“Alright. Well, if he does then I’ll just be forced to spell everything he owns to the top of the White Chapel before they expel me then.”

We both laugh at this, and I move to hug him. I know Simon isn’t big on hugs, but ever since the scare with the dragon, I keep making small excuses to hug him. I’m glad when he hugs me back.

“See you Sunday night, yeah?” he says.

“Sunday.”

He walks me down the spiral staircase and checks to make sure there aren’t any boys lingering.

When we’re out of the building, he shakes his head. “How do you do that, Pen?”

I tap my nose again, this time winking at Simon. “Secret. You know this.”

He laughs, and I smile, the two of us walking along until he branches off for tea while I wait for my mum at the gates.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! This chapter comes to you SOMEHOW miraculously on schedule, despite family weddings and dog adoptions and Harry Potter World visits (and the fact that neither of us knows a blasted thing about men's football). Thank you for all your encouragement! We're having a blast with this story, and every comment means the world to us. Please enjoy! <3

**BAZ**

  
  


I have long since abanded my reading. Since the moment I heard Snow’s breathing even out, my gaze has been fixed on his relaxed, squished face that’s resting on a copy of the  _ Record _ . 

At some point he starts drooling, but it does nothing to deter me from openly watching him.

He looks younger like this. Not that he looks older than his age while awake. There’s just no wrinkles to mar his brow. Now, with him asleep, he doesn’t look like the Chosen One. He just looks like a boy. 

My chest tightens and I straighten, drawing my eyes back to the book in my lap. The closest thing I could find on runes and magickal symbols were a couple of Normal Wiccan books and an older Nordic runes glossary. Normal magic is fascinating, but none of it’s been any help, really. Not even the articles on vampires.

With a heavy sigh I slip my mobile out of my pocket to distract myself for a few minutes. I open Discord and see the last couple lines of our conversation from last night, and it makes me smile a bit.

  
  


**(Yesterday at 10:23pm)**

**PitchStriker: I know you don’t give a damn about Chelsea, but Kepa is right fit.**

 

**PugsNotDrugs: XD**

**PugsNotDrugs: yeah but like all premier league players are fit**

**PugsNotDrugs: fit sells**

  
  


I type out a reply, mostly to see if he’s around to chat.

  
  


**(Today at 5:37pm)**

**PitchStriker: It does, but he’s good, and fit. It’s a win-win here, Pugs.**

  
  


I’m in the middle of looking up Kepa’s player profile when my mobile starts to vibrate and Fiona’s face suddenly takes up my whole screen.

It’s Sunday. I’d nearly forgotten she was going to call me.

I stare at the screen until it goes black.

My mobile vibrates again and causes me to jump slightly.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” I breathe and then quickly glance up at Snow. He’s still asleep.

I know that I can’t avoid Fiona forever, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about avoiding her some more.

The screen goes black again, but then it lights up with a text from her. I click on it out of habit and curse under my breath.

 

**(17:40) F: I know you saw my other texts, Basil.**

**(17:40) F: And that one! You have your read on, you numpty!**

 

I let out a sigh and close my eyes for a long moment before I’m up and moving silently, collecting my jacket and scarf. My mobile vibrates once more when I’m taking one last look at the back of Snow’s head before ducking out the door.

I wait until I’m at least one story down to slide a finger across the green accept button and lift it to my ear.

“If it isn’t my favourite aunt,” I say, calmly walking through Mummers House while on my mobile. (Everyone has one. Fuck the Mage’s rules.)

“Basilton!” Fiona chirps, her voice tight and annoyed no matter how jovial she’s trying to be. “My favourite nephew!”

“How’s London?”

There’s a pause and then she lets out a long breath away from the phone speaker. “Gloomy. Cold as fuck. Same as always, I suppose.”

Fuck, I can tell she’s smoking. Just the thought of it makes me throat tight and my wand hand twitch, a craving I didn’t even know I had until I’m patting down the front of my coat for the pack of Marlboros I know isn’t there.

“Sounds lovely.” It comes out more wistfully than I meant it to. Crowley, I want to light up.

I turn on my heels back towards the third floor. Dev will have one or two I can bum.

“Have you done anything about the Chosen One?”

I sigh loudly, breath fogging. “No, Fiona. I have not.”

“Why not, boyo? Draggin’ your feet your eighth year?”

“I would never!” I hope I sound properly offended. “I can’t get a full grade if he’s dead, you know. We have to do our eighth year spell together.”

She hums thoughtfully through my mobile.

“Don’t you know about the roommate clause?”

I roll my eyes and I hope she can hear it. “What roommate clause?”

“If your roommate dies, you get full marks the rest of the year.”

“Well then,” I say dryly, finally at Dev and Niall’s room. “It’s a good thing I saved this for eighth year then.”

Fiona starts rambling about how thatlegend got started during her fifth year. I’ve heard it a dozen times, so I tune it out while I knock on the door and silently ask Dev for a smoke. He rolls his eyes and tosses me a new pack of cigs, and I lift my head in thanks before slipping back down towards the stairs.

Once I’m finally outside, and after double checking there aren’t any teachers around, I light the tip of a cigarette with my wand and take a long, slow drag. I enjoy the way the smoke burns my throat and lungs. It causes my shoulders to relax, and my hand stops twitching with something to do. My feet start circling the dorm building because I know this conversation isn’t going to be light and easy. Fiona starts going on a tangent about her chums from school, and I cut her off.

“Absolutely fascinately, Fiona. This little trip down memory lane has been lovely, really. But it’s nearly dinner time so please do get to the point of it all.”

“The Mage is making a move against us, Basil.” There’s no hint of her previous playfulness, all business now.

“What?” I choke out, stopping dead in my tracks. It starts to sprinkle, and I’m too shocked to even pull up the hood on my coat right away.

“You’ve heard about the raids he’s started conducting?” 

I hum, recalling something I heard from either Dev or Niall. The details are fuzzy, but my thoughts dissipate when Fiona speaks again.

“He wants to come to Pitch manner. Said he wanted to check if we’re working with the Humdrum. Which of course we’re not. What magician in their right mind would help the bleedin’ Humdrum?? So’s I told him and his little prat Premal they could both fuck right off. Malcom and Daphne said much the same, though politely.” She snorts. “He turned tail and ran off to the Coven. We think he’s trying to file an injunction to force us open our doors to him.”

“Alister fucking Crowley,” I growl and flick the end of my cigarette then step on it to put it out. (And then I spell it away, because I’m not going to litter on school grounds.) “Father would never allow that sorry excuse of a magician into our house.”

“Of course he wouldn’t, Basil, and neither would I.” She says it so fiercely and with such conviction that I lean against Mummers because it makes me yearn for my childhood home. The stone is freezing through my hoodie, but I don’t move away.

And then she continues.

“He went to the Bishop’s house.” There’s a pause, and I can hear a lighter flick a few times before she takes the first drag of a new cigarette. “They’re claiming he took the magic out of an old heirloom teapot. He’s denied it, and the Coven won’t even comment, but it’s worse than that.

He hasn’t taken anything that hasn’t been volunteered, but there’ve been whispers about the things he leaves behind. It’s the Bishop’s teapot, the Wallington’s locket, a music box from the Fortunes. They’re all being silenced. I don’t know how he’s doing it, Basil, but he’s  _ stealing _ magic.”

Part of me thinks maybe this is Fiona taking a piss at the Mage like she always does, but this shocks me proper. I can’t even come up with anything to say for a long minute as I try to picture taking magic from an item. It’s impossible. It just  _ can’t _ be done. I don’t even think Snow could do that, even if he wanted to. (Which he doesn’t, I’m sure.)

“If he tries to come again, call me and I’ll come home,” I say before I can stop myself. I don’t want to leave Watford, but I mean it. I will not let the bloody Mage into my house, into my  _ mother’s _ house. Not without a fight. Even with all the Wolf and prophecy business, I mean it. I’ll come home if he threatens my family again.

“Basilton,” Fiona whispers and I can hear the worrying look on her face from here. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I mimic.

“Just keep an eye on the Chosen One for now, and let us worry about the Mage on our end, alright?”

“Alright.” I say, and without another word I hang up the call. 

I pocket my mobile and take out the Marlboros, contemplate chain smoking the rest of the pack, but decide against it. Instead I head back into Mummers House to return the rest to Dev, climbing the stairs slowly while I think over my conversation with Fiona and the implications of it.

When I get to their door, I knock and wait for Niall to answer. I toss Dev the rest of his cigarettes without thanks. I have more important things to tell them.

“Gentlemen,” I say. “I’ve got some news from home.”

This catches their attention. I perch on Niall’s desk and tug off my scarf while the two of them sit at their beds, and I retell Fiona’s story of the Mage’s  _ stealing _ spree. Neither of them reply right away, but Dev’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and Niall goes so pale his freckles stand out harshly against his ghost-white skin.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do against  _ that _ ?” Dev finally asks, the room heavy with revelations.

“Nothing,” I say simply.

“Nothing?” Niall starts, sitting up straighter. “That’s a load of bollocks, and you know it, Baz. We don’t ever just do ‘nothing.’”

I roll my eyes at him. “Yes, I know, Niall. But the Mage hasn’t been here all that much this year, so there’s nothing we  _ can _ do.”

The two of them share a glance and then look at me again.

“So we do nothing?” Dev asks.

“Nothing. There’s isn’t much we can do from here, is there?”

Niall’s features crumple into a scowl, and he flushes, his voice hot. “So we sit here and wait for him to invade one of our houses?”

“Or,” Dev cuts in, leaning forward with both forearms on his thighs. “We leave Watford and defend our homes before he makes a move against us.”

I shake my head as Niall starts to agree with him. “You two can do what you want, but I’m not leaving Watford until I’ve been called home.” If Fiona or Father calls to tell me the Mage has come back with orders from the Coven, then I’ll go. Until then I have other business to attend to.

They fall silent but nod grimly, and then share a longer look that could easily be a whole conversation for them. I tune them out and just stare down at Niall’s desk while deep in thought about the Mage, magic stealing, the prophecy, and the Wolf. And Nico. Crowley, I wish we could find something on him. I think we’ve covered the entire Watford library at this point. Twice. Even with Bunce’s help, I might have to go home just to check our family library for the hope of some scrap of information.

I’m so lost in my own head that I don’t come back to earth until Niall snatches my scarf off my shoulders to get my attention.

“Oi, we’re already late for dinner, Basil,” he says and then throws the fabric back into my face. “Let’s get a move on.”

I huff and stand, brushing myself off and fixing the scarf back around my neck as we head out towards the dining hall together. 

I blink, not quite believing my eyes.

The Mage is here, about a hundred yards ahead of us, also heading for the Weeping Tower, completely decked out in his Robin Hood getup. I could hate him on principle alone, for wearing that ridiculous outfit all the time, but my hatred runs so much deeper. his taxes and exclusion of the Old Families and his constant need to rule over us instead of guide as previous Mages have done and the way he uses Snow. And now  _ this _ .

  
  


**SIMON**

  
  


An obnoxiously loud buzzing slowly drags me into consciousness, and I reach a hand out blindly to make it stop. It ceases on its own before I find it, but I’m now awake enough to feel just how bloody uncomfortable I am.

I sit up, blinking blearily at the fading sunset outside the window, rubbing my eyes and wincing. My neck is stiff, my cheek hurts, and a disgustingly large portion of the left side of my face is covered in drool, which means...I look down at the old issue of the  _ Magickal Record _ , splayed out on my desk. Yep. A large section of it is now  just a large blotch.

Well, hope there wasn’t anything important in that one.

Doubtful, as neither spells nor gruntwork have gotten us anywhere in the week since Baz and I started our in-depth search for Nico and the sun symbol. Baz has moved on to researching the symbology behind the sun, not that it’s going to give us anything to go on.

I grab my mobile to see who caused this unfortunate awakening, and I’m stunned when I see the time.

I missed tea.

I never miss tea.

Just the thought makes my stomach whinge. It’s been  _ hours _ since my roast beef sandwich, and it’ll be another until dinner.

I sigh wistfully and move past the time to my notifications. I have a missed call and two texts, all from Penny.

  
  


**(17:51) P: Are you in your room? I have BIG NEWS, and we’re almost back.**

**(17:59) P: SIMON SNOW LOOK AT YOUR PHONE.**

  
  


My heart leaps, and without even thinking about it, my feet do the same. Big news? That can only mean one thing. We have a break,  _ finally _ .

I look at the timestamp, about ten minutes ago. She must be nearly here. 

  
  


**(18:02) S: sry i fell asleep**

**(18:02) S: in my room. come on up when you get here**

  
  


She responds immediately.

  
  


**(18:03) P: We’re just pulling up to the gates. Is Baz there?**

  
  


He isn’t. He was in his bed before I fell asleep, but I have no idea where he went. We might be working together, but we still aren’t exactly the leaving-notes-for-each-other kind of roommates. (At least, not since fourth year when Baz finally gave up on leaving passive aggressive notes for me about tidying.)

  
  


**(18:03) S: no**

  
  


I pace the room, waiting for Penny to get here. I open the desk drawer that I dedicate to snacks, but it’s been too long since I stocked it, and all I have is a little bag of Maltesers.

They’ll have to to.

I rip the package open and pop one into my mouth. They may not be filling, but they  _ are _ delicious.

I’m on my fourth one when I hear footsteps clomping up to the door in a way that’s undoubtedly Penny. I whip the door open before she can knock, and she pauses, blinking at me, her fist raised in the air.

And then she throws her arms around me.

I’m not expecting it, and she almost makes me drop my candy, but I catch it just in time. My arms are awkwardly pinned to my sides by hers, but I try to maneuver enough to sort of half-hug her back with one arm.

“You are  _ never _ going to guess what I found out,” she exclaims, drawing back and continuing into the room. I shut the door behind her and turn around, watch her flop down onto my bed.

“Dragon news?”

Her grin grows until it takes up her entire face. “Oh, yeah. Big dragon news,” she says, reaching over into her rucksack and pulling out a thick book that’s so old, I can’t even see the title. It has a dark green cover, and I can see little faint flecks of gold where the letters used to be, but I can’t make it out.

“Care to share?” I prompt, dropping into my desk chair and popping another Malteser into my mouth.

“So, I’ll spare you the details, but last week I found a line in a book from the Watford library that referenced another book I’d read before which referenced  _ another _ book I hadn’t. It was all sort of complicated.” She waved a hand in the air to illustrate. “Anyway, I almost brushed it off, because I thought I was reading too much into it. There was no  _ way _ the book meant what I thought it meant. But the more I read it, over and over, the more I was convinced I was right. I had to go visit my parents’ library, because Watford doesn’t have the right type of books for what I wanted to look into.”

I would pester her about this being the “short” version, but this is Penny. She probably could have monologued about this process for at least ten minutes. Besides, I want to know what she found, and judging by her tone, she’s almost to the reveal.

“So anyway, I spent all weekend buried in our library, and I found two separate reputable sources. So what I’m about to say is going to sound insane, but it’s true.”

Her eyes are shining with an almost manic glee, and I can’t help leaning forward.

“Dragons can communicate telepathically.”

My jaw drops. “Wait, seriously?”

Penny nods so fiercely that her glasses slide down her nose, and she has to push them back into place.

“There’s no way to prove that they can, of course. But there was this mage, Theophilus the Wise, who studied them and wrote a whole book about why he believed they communicated telepathically with each other as well as other animals. For whatever reason, the theory never took hold, but I read the whole thing, and he makes a very compelling case.” 

I’m about to ask for more details, but she holds up a finger. “There’s more. And this is the part that I can’t believe we’ve never learned! I’m going to have to write a letter to the Coven about the Mage’s curriculum standard. Anyway, hundreds of years ago, there used to be this type of mage called the  _ wyvernspeakers _ . The first mention I could find of them was in the twelfth century, and they were referenced quite regularly for a long time. Then once the 1600s hit, nothing. Not a single mention. It’s all quite mysterious, but I didn’t have time to  _ really _ dig into it. Anyway, the important thing is that the wyvernspeakers were a sort of oracle. They were all able to tell the future, but they claimed that all the knowledge they passed on was  _ given to them by dragons _ .”

My jaw is hanging open - again? still? - and I consciously shut it, then open it again to say, “I’m about to hug you again.”

She tosses her head back and laughs loudly. “Right? I was so excited to come back that I think I freaked my mum out on the car ride up here. The annoying thing is that if the school library were  _ remotely _ well stocked, I probably would’ve found this in like two days. But nooo, heaven forbid we have anything related to mages that doesn’t have to do with Normals. There’s something to be said about history, you know!” she says, her voice rising, and I sit back, very accustomed to this rant.

I shove another candy into my mouth and chew while my brain spins. Dragons have given prophecies before. 

We still don’t know why it chose us or why it’s starting again now, but it means this was real. We’re not just running around chasing our tails because of some insane practical joke by the Humdrum, like a part of me had started to wonder.

I dump the last two Maltesers into my palm, and I must look forlorn, because Penny casts  **plenty of fish in the sea** and suddenly, the package is full again. (Casting metaphors is a tricky business, but Pen is pretty good at it. I tried casting that on a pot of tea we were sharing once, and the whole thing filled with sardines.)

“You’re the best, Pen,” I say around a mouthful of chocolate.

“I know,” she replies, winking.

I chew and swallow. “So Baz and I were talking.”

She raises her eyebrows and waits for me to continue. I think back to last night, to Baz admitting that it’s time we bring Penny into this. To how frustrated and defeated he sounded, and suddenly, I don’t mind that Penny is probably going to think I’m insane for 

“As you’ve probably figured out by now, we’re...we’ve been working together. On something besides our spell.”

“I  _ knew _ it,” she says, thwacking a hand down on my bed.

“Yeah, well,” I shrug. “It’s kind of a big deal. Baz didn’t want to broadcast it. But it’s been a while, and we’re kinda stuck. And you’re good at this sort of thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get to it.”

I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “The Humdrum didn’t murder Baz’s mum. Someone else did. The same person the dragon warned us about now. We’re trying to find out who it is, so we can take him down.”

Now it’s time for Penny’s jaw to drop.

“Yeah.”

I pace around the room as I spell out everything, from the truce to Baz’s spell to the nursery and Nico and everything I can think of, and it takes the better part of an hour.

It’s perfect timing, because it takes us to right to the beginning of dinner, and Penny demands to see the nursery (“I might find something you missed! A pair of fresh eyes, you know.”). We speed to the Weeping Tower and grab quick sandwiches we gulp down on the way up to the nursery. 

Once we’re there, I don’t make the replay happen - I’m not sure I could do it again if I could. But I describe it all to her, in as much detail as I can remember.

Finally, I run out of things to say, sitting propped against the wall in this room that still makes my skin crawl with an oddly supernatural chill. I want to leave, but Penny has been inspecting the room from top to bottom while I talk.

She seems to give up when I go silent, coming back to slide down the wall beside me and take my hand in hers.

“This is a lot, Simon. Are you sure...I mean. What does this mean? Does Baz...well. What are you going to do about this Wolf if you do find him? You’re going to need proof if you want to turn him into the Coven.”

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair.

“I know. I’m not sure. Just...taking it one step at a time. I have to find him. I have to figure this out.”

I see her nod beside me in the edge of my vision.

“I’ll help. Of course.”

“You’re the best friend, Pen.”

She shifts over and knocks her shoulder against mine. “Don’t you forget it.” Then she stands, tugging at my hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This room’s giving me the creeps.”

“Gladly.” When we’re out in the hall once more and the nursery has faded into hiding, I cast a glance toward Penny. “How would you feel about some more dinner?”

“I feel like I knew you were going to say that,” she returns, grinning at me.

“Great.”

I set off toward the dining hall, pretending I don’t notice when her face lapses back into a thoughtful frown.

  
  


**THE MAGE**

  
  


It’s bloody freezing when I climb out of the Range Rover, a sick grey drizzle immediately dampening my hair and obscuring everything until the imposing stone edges of the Weeping Tower have gone blurry and soft. I shudder and cast a quick weatherization spell on myself, starting out toward the dining hall.

Despite the chill and my bone-deep exhaustion, anticipation quickens my step. The sooner I reach my office, the sooner the depths of my treasures will be revealed.

This auction was the most successful yet, better than I could have hoped. Three separate magickal objects, all obtained for a mere pittance because Normals are too stupid to see what’s right in front of them. The old desk phone alone is enough to make me lick my lips is anticipation. It’s dull and missing the dial and looks like a heap of rubbish, but it’s so full of magic, it’s nearly  _ glowing. _

Premal will carry the trunk up to my office as soon as he parks the car. The Bunces are a pitiful family, really, not much magic to begin with, and most of it wasted on an annoying girl who’s too smart for her own good, but at least they turned out one useful progeny. Ever since Alistair met an unfortunate end last year at the hands of the Humdrum - at least that’s what I put on the paperwork - I had needed a new right-hand man, so to speak. Someone unquestioningly loyal, magically adequate, and too stupid or indifferent to question my orders.

Premal fulfills all these qualities, and he has been indispensable these past few months. He has accompanied me all over Britain and the Continent, to auction after auction, and to the houses of willing magickal families.

Not once has he given an inkling that he might suspect. Indeed, he has commented more than once that admires my efforts against the Humdrum.

And I am, of course, concerned about the Humdrum.

Just not as much as everyone else.

And soon, I won’t need to be at all, not anymore. Nor will I have to drag myself to Normal auctions or rummage through dusty houses.

I’ll have everything I need.

The thought is heady, and I throw open the door with more energy than necessary. It causes several students stare at me, but none of them say anything.

I scan the room, and I don’t see the trademark Grimm widow’s peak anywhere.

Good. I’ve had more than my share dealing with that family. Fiona acted like she expected me to come around begging like a dog, but she underestimates me, as always. Her lot always underestimates anyone they consider below them.

But the joke will be on them in the end.

I see the back of Simon’s head on the far side of the room, across from the Know-It-All Bunce girl. I make a beeline for him, and the scent of fresh food causes my stomach to protest the fact that I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

I ignore it. I like the way the magic feels when I’m hungry. It heightens the anticipation, my senses thrumming, on edge, tingling for that first drop of elixir. I feel hollowed out, a holy vessel ready to be filled. 

With effort, I focus back in on Simon and stop in front of their table. Simon drops his fork, potatoes splattering onto the bench. “Sir!” He clambers to his feet. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Simon,” I say, inclining my head. “Please come to my office tomorrow directly after classes. I have a matter to discuss with you.”

He straightens and nods eagerly. “Of course. Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

“Excellent. Enjoy your dinner.”

He wants to say more, I can tell, but I turn away before he can. I have no time for this now. A trunk will soon find its way to my office, and I will be there waiting for it.

His questions can wait until tomorrow.

Not that he’ll need them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In case you are interested, [this](https://imgur.com/hMkolEx) is the aforementioned newly-adopted dog. And yes, his name is Simon.)


	12. Chapter 12

**SIMON**

  
  


My last class before my meeting with the Mage drags on endlessly, and I can’t concentrate at all.

I’d been not-thinking about him for so long that the rush of feelings when he appeared at dinner last night took me completely by surprise.

The Mage has always been a little confusing, because that’s just how he is. He’s The Mage. Mysterious and eccentric and occasionally, in the words of Baz, a “right bastard.” (Even Agatha called him that once. I remember, because it was just after we started going out, and I had never heard her curse before.)

But he’s always seemed more good than...well, anything else. He’s the one who found me and brought me here, and even if I didn’t understand it, I always believed he had the best interests of Watford at heart. And all magekind, for that matter.

But this year, he hasn’t only been ignoring me. He’s been ignoring the entire school.

And the things Penny told me last night after dinner, the tales from her mum…

I didn’t want to believe them. I  _ didn’t  _ believe, when it was just the one. When she told me that story the day of the dragon attack, I nearly bit her head off. But now I don’t know what to think.

I want to dismiss it all. There’s no way the Mage has been stealing magic. It’s impossible - even  _ I  _ can’t do that. (I don’t think.) Plus, he just wouldn’t. We might not know what he’s up to exactly, but I know he’s on the right side. He’s with the Coven, and he’s against the Humdrum. That should be enough.

(That used to be enough.)

Penny is my best friend, and I trust her.

But I still trust the Mage, too. Whatever’s happening, he must have a good reason. If he’s been ignoring Watford, it must be because he’s doing something more important, something to help all magekind.

And maybe-

I snap up so straight in my seat that Madam Bellamy looks over at me disapprovingly, and I have to shoot her a winning smile.

Maybe all this business about stealing magic has been the Humdrum framing him.

The thought seems so obvious that I can’t believe I missed it before.

Class is dismissed, and I shoot out of my seat in an instant, practically jog through the halls toward the elevators that lead up to the Mage’s office. I risk using my wand and - miracle of all miracles - it works.

While I’m waiting on the ride up to the top floor, I wonder why he called me to begin with. Will it be a hunt for another magical item that needs to be safely stored away before the Humdrum can reach it, like the moonstone or the serpants’ onyx? Is he finally calling me to help with the war against the Humdrum?

Part of me wonders what it would be like if he gave me a long mission, one that would take me away from here, away from everything. So I wouldn’t have to deal with prophecies and the Mage and the Humdrum and the Families (another thing firmly on my Don’t Think About It list).

I have to be ready to fight the Humdrum when it’s time. And I have Baz and our truce and his mum and the Wolf. And even if the prophecy did tell me to run, I couldn’t go, even if I really wanted. 

And I don’t. Not really.

I want to stay here at Watford. With sour cherry scones and the football pitch and my uniform and Penny and Agatha and Baz.

Not that Baz is...well, he’s not exactly a friend. I wouldn’t exactly  _ miss _ him if I left. It would just be strange without him, is all. 

I definitely wouldn’t miss the research, though. I’m rubbish at the research.

Usually when we do these kinds of things, Penny does most of the reading. I just point my sword and march off in whatever direction she tells me.

Now, it’s to the point where I have dreams of being buried under thousands of copies of the  _ Record _ .

(At least I have running, though. I’ve gotten a bit better at it, though Baz thinks I’m insane for going out into the cold on purpose. Last night, after Penny left, I started lacing up my trainers, and he stared at me like I’d gone complete off my nut.

“What?”

“Did you look out the window?” 

“Yeah.”

“I know you’re mental, but this is a whole new level, even for you.”

“Thanks,” I deadpanned, trying to tug a knot out of my laces. I never untie them when I’m finished, though it always comes back to bite me in the ass.

“It’s fucking nasty out there, Snow. I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”

I shrugged. “You go out every night.”

“That’s different,” he said, shifting his eyes back to his book. The one we were supposed to be reading in Normal Lit. Somehow he was managing to do more research than I did  _ and _ keep up with his homework. Typical.

“Becauuuuse…” I trailed off, prompting. It’s when he feeds, obviously, as I’ve known for years, but he’s still touchy about the whole vampire thing. 

“Because unlike you, at least  _ I _ dress for the weather,” he sniffed, eyeing my ratty jumper, then dropping his gaze back to the book.

“I get hot,” I said, shrugging again.

“Of course you do,” he said, flipping a page, a very heavy eyeroll clear in his tone. “All I’m saying is, when you come back with pneumonia and I have to kick you downstairs to sleep with the first years, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You want to give a bunch of first years pneumonia?”

“Not particularly, but if that’s the cost of avoiding it myself…I’m not too bothered.”

“Yeah,” I snorted. “Right.”

He looked up from his book again to level a glare at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It  _ means _ that I don’t believe you.”

“Your prerogative, Snow,” he said, with a small one-shoulder shrug. “I’m just a bit surprised. Given your normal opinion of me, I’m astonished you aren’t handing out vaccines right this minute.”

“Just because we’re enemies doesn’t mean I think you’re a terrible person,” I said and realized, suddenly, that it was true.

He blinked at me, and I didn’t know what to make of his expression or why my stomach felt suddenly weird, so I left the room without another word.

In the end, he was right. It was wet and cold and sodding miserable, and I turned around when I stepped in a giant puddle that soaked through my shoe and nearly turned my foot to ice. 

When I came back to the room, Baz gave me shit, but when I got out of the shower and put on the socks I’d laid out on my bed, I would swear to Merlin he had cast  **you’re getting warmer** on them. 

They felt perfect.)

The memory fades as the elevator doors open, the ornately carved entrance to the Mage’s office directly in front of me. I knock and hear a muffled “ **_Open sesame_ ** ,” and the door swings wide, revealing the Mage himself, seated at his huge oak desk.

I shuffle in and nod a greeting. “Hello, sir.”

“Simon, welcome,” he says, standing. “Thank you for being so prompt.” He waves toward the two maroon chairs in front of his desk, and I sit, sinking into the plush cushions.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, leaning forward and placing his chin on his fist.

It’s throws me for a bit of a loop, because of all the possibilities I considered, this had not been on the list.

The Mage doesn’t call me to his office just to  _ ask how I’m doing. _

But then, he’s never been away this often or this long before. Maybe he really does just want to know how I am.

The thought makes a little ball of warmth grow in my chest.

“Doing pretty good, sir. Keeping busy.”

I don’t elaborate, mostly because I don’t know how to start. I want to ask him about the Humdrum and the possibility of the framing, but if he’s going to ask me about myself, how do I tell him the truth without telling him  _ too much  _ truth?

He stands, moving around his desk, and I’m distracted by how thin he looks. His tunic is draping where it’s normally pressed properly, and he looks pale, drawn, like he hasn’t slept in a fortnight. His eyes are underlined by bold, sickly smudges.

“Are you ill, sir? I can call Nurse A-”

He waves a hand, and I fall immediately silent.

“No, no. I’m fine, Simon. I’ve just been busy. Evil never sleeps, you know,” he says, a strange grin on his face, and I don’t know how to interpret it.

I’ve wanted to tell him so much since the dragon. Not about Baz’s mum - I told him I wouldn’t tell, and I mean to keep my promise - but about the magic sharing. 

It’s on the tip of my tongue now. I want to unburden myself, let the Mage take care of it.

But I hold back. 

He looks...awful. I’ve never seen him like this. I don’t want to add to his burdens.

I decide to tell him later, after things have calmed down a bit.

Still, though, I might ask him about Nico. Just in general terms. He might know something that isn’t in the books.

But before I can, he’s talking again. “How is your eighth year spell going?”

“Oh! It’s, uh,” I rub the back of my neck, stalling. I don’t think I can tell him about Baz’s, not without saying more than I mean to. So I improvise quickly, jumping back to our initial idea. “Well, my partner is Baz, since roommates are all working together this year.” He nods like this isn’t new information, and I continue. “We’re using Shakespeare.  **Neither here nor there** . It’s a disappearing spell.”

“Ah, a good idea, Shakespeare,” he comments approvingly. “May not always make for the most powerful spells, but certainly some of the most consistent and the longest lasting. An excellent choice. Well done, Simon.”

I cast around for something else to say, my cheeks going hot. 

“We’re not finished yet, of course, but it’s...in progress.”

“It takes time to get these things right. In fact,” he leans back against the desk, crossing his legs, “this is actually the perfect opportunity.”

“Sir?” I question with a frown.

“This is why I summoned you, actually. I have something I would like you to do for me.”

I straighten in my chair. “Of course. Anything.”

“I need you to keep an eye on the Pitch boy. Tyrannus.”

“Oh,” I say, settling back into my seat and trying not to frown.

“I know it might not seem like much, what with the war coming. I’m sure you want to be as ready as you can be, and I appreciate that. But this is an important duty. Some of the Families have already started calling their sons home. I need you to reach out to me if Baz is summoned. Most of all, I need you to stay close to him. I know the two of you have never been close, and I view that as good judgement on your part. However, we all must make sacrifices in wartime. I need you to watch his actions, his communication with his family. If you see or hear anything suspicious, tell me immediately.”

My throat is tight, and I don’t know why. It’s basically what I’ve been doing for years anyway. I nod. “Of course. Yes, sir. I can do that.”

“Excellent.” He leans forward and places a hand on my shoulder, looking into my eyes, his gaze oddly unreadable. “Thank you for all you do, Simon. I know I don’t always say it, but you’re truly a boon to the cause.”

I want to believe him, to think that this is suddenly a Mage who wants to be more involved in my life, who wants to know me and tell me I’m doing a good job. 

I want it so much, it hurts.

But he never has before, and it’s starting to seem...almost like an act.

Like he wants me to trust him.

Something bitter like bile sits on the back of my tongue.

“Sir-” I almost ask him about it. If the Humdrum is setting him up for the magic stealing. 

I want him to reassure me that it is. I want everything to be that simple. That of course’s it’s the Humdrum, because everything bad or inexplicable leads back to the Humdrum.

But I don’t ask.

Instead, I just swallow. “I’ll do my best to make you proud,” I say.

I’m not sure whether or not I mean it.

He nods, backing away. “Thank you. And Simon, stay on your guard,” he says, moving toward the door. I get up to follow. “The Pitches are sneaky bastards. Don’t let him fool you into thinking he’s something he isn’t.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“The war is imminent, as you know. I might call on you again soon. Be prepared.”

He looks so serious, and I nod automatically.

“Call me if you have any important news.”

“I don’t-” I clear my throat. “I don’t have your number.”

He blinks at me like he’s forgotten that’s an essential part of the process. “You don’t?”

I shake my head.

“Well, I suppose we should remedy that.” He strides back over to the desk and scribbles onto a slip of paper, then hands it to me.

“Burn this once you’ve saved the number. I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

I have no idea who would want his number, except maybe Penny so she can berate him for the school’s poorly stocked library or canceled linguistics programme, but I say, “Of course,” in a tone I hope sounds grave enough to please him.

He dismisses me then, and I ride the elevator all the way to the bottom floor, my stomach sinking along with it.

That didn’t help at all. Everything is so muddled, and I hate it. I hate it so much.

I hate it so much.

I can feel my magic start to burn, and I can’t. I can’t do this now.

I close my eyes and count to three and then I very carefully don’t think about anything but what I see. I see a group of fifth year girls clustered in the hallway, giggling. I see a grey day through the windows, the weak sun just barely peeking out. I see the door in front of me suddenly, heavy and dark and hundreds of years old.

I open it and stride outdoors, and the cold is bracing. A group of students hurry past me toward the Cloisters, all walking with their heads down, scarves wrapped tightly around their necks. It’s chilly enough that the littluns are probably happy they have to wear hats.

The idle thought makes me think back to second year, when we had a particularly bad winter. It was misty and dark and cold and windy enough that the trees in the Wavering Wood were less “wavering” and more “bent nearly in half.” My boater blew away, and Penny wasn’t there, and I couldn’t get the spell right to put it back on. Ebb found me cursing the hat to hell and back, and I thought she was going to write me up, but she just spelled it back on with a wink.

The thought makes me smile, and I find myself turning toward the far hills, to a place I haven’t visited nearly often enough the past couple years.

Tea sounds amazing right now, and Ebb always has some, usually served with a neverending supply of good stories, if you don’t mind the occasional bout of tears.

And most of all, I don’t think she cares about the wars at all.

  
  


**EBB**

  
  


I’m out in courtyard watering the goats when I see Simon. He’s kicking rocks along the path, hands shoved into the pockets of his jumper. 

I lean heavily onto my walking staff and watch as he approaches, moving like the weight of the whole Magickal world rests on his shoulders. (If you ask the Mage, he’d say it does, and rightfully so. If you ask me, well...no one ever asks me.) The wide grin that spreads across his face when he spots me shoots clean through my four jumpers and warms my heart.

“Ahoy, Simon,” I say when he starts jogging towards me. A few of the goats part for him, some trailing after him, excited for someone new to play with.

“Hiya, Ebb.” He pants a little. A little kid - Cheese, one of my favorites - bumps into Simon’s leg and bleats, begging for his attention. “I was just coming to find you.”

“Me? What for?”

He shrugs. “Just to visit. ‘S been a while.”

“You’ve been busy,” I say, waving him off. “But I’m always happy for company.”

I move to sit on the fountain and pat the space beside me. He sits, staring off into space.

“Alright there, Simon?”

“‘m fine.” He shrugs and avoids my eyes when he says it. “Just been to see the Mage is all.”

“Didn’t have a mission for you, did he?” I ask, and my tone is more disapproving than I meant to let it be.

He shrugs again, pulling Cheese into his lap. This sets Bucket off in what is sure to be an envious fit - sibling rivalry and all that - and I pick her up to keep her from starting to nibble at Simon’s trousers.

“It’s not,” he starts then takes a deep breath. “It’s not a mission...exactly. Just more of the same stuff.” 

This forlorn look he has worries me. Back when I was in school, you only saw the headmistress for two reason. Either you were excelling in class or you were in trouble, the latter of which I was a bit famous for.

Well, not just me.

I sniff and hold Bucket closer, murmuring a few words to calm her, and she starts to drift off in my arms. Simon looks up at me and leans his shoulder against mine.

I sigh. “I wish the Mage didn’t always single you out. Just ‘cause he says you’re the Chosen One, don’t mean he has to dump so much on your shoulders. You’re young, Simon. It ain’t right.”

“‘s alright, Ebb. I’m not that young, not anymore. It’s my job.”

I shake my head and take a deep breath. “It just ain’t right, Simon. You...you should be havin’ the time of your life. Watford is your golden years.” I wipe my eyes with the back of a hand and sniff wetly. “When I was your age, we was gettin’ in loads of trouble. Headmistress Pitch always said we were a handful.”

Simon grins lopsidedly. “You? Really? You don’t seem like the trouble making type.”

I shove back against his shoulder with mine. “What bein’ young is for! ‘Course, Headmistress Pitch wouldn’t have agreed. She gave me my job here, y’know. Said it would keep me outta trouble and…” My eyes fill with tears again. “And that I didn’t have to leave Watford if I didn’t want. So’s I stayed while everyone else left.”

Digging around in one of my jumper pockets, I find a hankie and dab at my eyes, sniffling, my chest aching something fierce. Talking about school and all the trouble we used to get into makes me miss him so. Sometimes I wonder if he misses me just as much.

I give my hankie a good honk, which wakes Bucket and startles poor Cheese. I let Bucket down onto the ground, and when I sit back up, Simon is staring at my hand, his expression morphing into concentration and then something akin to alarm.

“Uh,” he stammers. “Uh, hey. Um. Ebb?”

I wipe at my nose and nod to get him to continue.

“Who...where’d you get that?” he asks quietly.

Blinking, I look at the cloth, crumpled and dirty in my hand. It’s my oldest one, faded from a bright white to a cream, the gold thread a dull yellow now. I smile sadly as my throat clogs, my eyes filling with fresh, hot tears.

“Nicky gave it to me. Nicked us matching pairs in town one time at a tailor shop. Said he wanted me,” my voice breaks, and I can feel my face crumple a little. “Said he wanted me to have it, ‘cause I’m such a leaky faucet.”

“Was Nicky one of your troublemaking friends?” he asks, a little grin on his face.

I smile and sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s the best friend I ever had. ‘Course, it’s almost bound to be that way, with twins.”

His eyes bulge, finally snapping away from the hankie and back to my face. “You have a  _ twin _ ?”

I nod.

“B-but. How did I not know this?”

“Not many people do. S’okay.”

He looks back down at the hankie as we sit in silence. I sniff a few more times and wipe my eyes with the back of my other hand.

“So…what kind of trouble did you guys get into?” he asks cautiously.

“Oh, all sorts. We were ‘specially fond of spelling the draw bridge down and goin’ to get sozzled in town. ‘Course we got caught at least half the time, but it was worth it. The good times we had.” I can almost see Nicky’s face, young and bright and laughing like we had all the time in the world. But that was before.

One of Simon’s legs starts to jiggle up and down, but Cheese gives a bleat of protest, and it stills.

“Sounds like you two had a lot of adventures, you and…” he pauses, then says, “Nicky, was it? Or...or Nico..”

I nod. “He went by both. But there’s nothin’ wrong with a spot of trouble making, Simon. Long as no one gets hurt.” A fresh wave of tears starts. “‘Course…” my voice breaks. “‘Course, sometimes people get hurt, and there’s nothin’ you can do about it. Much as you try.”

“I’m sorry, Ebb. Losing a brother...must be hard.”

I nod. “Missin’ your other half ain’t something you just forget about, y’know?”

Simon reaches out to grab my hand in one of his. It doesn’t seem right, somehow, that his hands are larger than mine. He’s still so young.

“It’s almost…” my voice is a whisper, and I glance around the courtyard, but there’s no one in sight. “‘S almost worse that he isn’t dead. Not really.”

Simon’s hand tightens spasmodically, and he asks, “What do you mean?”

“H-he did something unforgivable. Chose to become…” I swallow. “Well. He went and made a bad choice, and he was stricken from all of magickal history for it. No one’s allowed to write about him or talk about him ever. But Headmistress Pitch, she let me keep his name. I’m the only one who still knows it.”

I wave my staff down at the dirt beneath out feet and whisper his name, pushing magic into it. Slowly, little lines draw themselves in the dirt, spelling out  _ Nicodemus Petty _ in messy script. Simon doesn’t say anything, just stares at the writing. A billy tries to walk over it, but I shoo it away, a sob catching in my chest.

“He’s not dead?” Simon asks slowly.

“No. But he might as well be, hidden out in Oxfordshire with...others like him. No one even knowing his proper name anymore.” Panic wells in my chest, suddenly, as I realize what I’ve done in my maudlin state. I wave my staff to clear the name from the dirt with a gust of wind. I look back up and meet his eyes. His face is pale as goat’s milk, except for a couple splotches of fuschia warming his cheeks. “Don’t tell anyone, yeah? I‘m not supposed to talk about it.” 

He nods, swallowing. “‘Course.” He bites his lip, looking down at Cheese, who’s fallen asleep in his lap. “I’m really sorry about your brother, Ebb. I’m sure he misses you, too.”

I smile sadly. “Thank you, Simon.”

He squeezes my hand again, gently this time, and I return the gesture, then pull my hand away to clean my face up a bit more.

His leg starts vibrating again, waking Cheese, but this time he doesn’t stop. Instead, he sets Cheese down and clears his throat.

“S-sorry, Ebb, but I gotta go. Promised Baz we’d work on our spell.” He stands so quickly that it spooks poor Cheese, and she runs to cuddle up with one of the other kids.

“S’alright.” I reach for my staff and stand alongside him. “Just don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

He turns to give me a warm smile and nods, then walks off towards Mummers House. A few steps in, he starts jogging, and by the time he reaches the building, he’s practically in a flat-out run.

Nico was always in a hurry to get places, too.

I dab at my eyes and sit back down, picking up Bucket again and letting myself get lost in memories.

  
  


**BAZ**

  
  


I’m trying to read the book in my lap. I’ve given it a valiant effort, but it’s not cutting the anxiety that’s coiled tight in my chest.

It’s been an hour since classes ended, and if Snow’s been with the Mage this whole time...who knows what he’s blabbed about. I would sleep much better at night if he could just forget what happened in the nursery. If  _ I _ could forget what happened. 

I glance sideways at Bunce, who waltzed into our room after classes like she owned the place. I wonder if Snow has told her. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had. They talk constantly and about everything. Either she isn’t afraid I’ll bite her (I wouldn’t) and drain her blood (I seriously wouldn’t), or she’s oblivious to the fact that a vampire is sitting a finger-snap’s distance from her.

She catches me staring at her. “What?” She eyes me up and down from Snow’s bed.

“Nothing, Bunce.” I glance back down at my book. “Just trying to figure out how you get into the boys’ dorms, is all.”

This causes her to chuckle quietly, the sound fading into a hum. The bed creaks, and she's coming towards me, then snatches the book I was pretending to read out of my hands.

“This is rubbish,” Bunce says with a wrinkled nose. “Where’d you even get this?”

“The library.”

“Of course. The whole collection is a ninepence short of worthless.”

“That’s because the Mage is an absolute idiot.” I snatch my book back from her. “There’s going to be a whole wave of magicians who only know spells from the last twenty years, and none of the tried and true spells that have been handed down for generations, thanks to Watford.”

She  _ harrumphs _ like I’ve never actually heard anyone under the age of seventy do before and doesn’t even have the grace to look pleased that I am, to my horror, agreeing with her.

“Y’know, If you two had just told me about the sun and Nico days ago, I could’ve combed my library at home. We have three times the number of books as Watford, easily.” 

With a sigh, Bunce plops down next to me, on my bed. Uninvited.

“Off,” I growl, shoving both of my sock-clad feet against her leg. “ _ Now _ .”

I start to gently kick at her leg until it jiggles, and she tries not to smile, but she doesn’t budge a centimetre. Instead, she picks up another book from the stack on my bed, flips it open to a pink sticky note, and hums. “I’m quite comfortable, thanks.”

I give her one more shove with my feet, but when it does nothing, I draw my legs back up, so I can prop the book on my knees to continue reading. 

I don't get much more time with my book, though, and neither does Bunce, because Snow chooses to come barreling up the stairs. He throws our door open so hard, it hits the wall and bounces back, smacking into him before he can stop it, leaving behind a dent in the plaster and a small pile of dust on the floor.

Bunce jumps, book clutched to her chest. “Si-” she begins, but he cuts her off in a hurried pant.

"Baz!" His blue eyes are wide and dilated, face flushed from the cold and breathing hard. “Penny!”

He slams the door shut behind him, and I’m  _ this close _ to making an annoying comment, but he seems like maybe he’s actually got something important to say, so I let him say it. Or let him try to, anyway.

“Found! I- he’s!  _ Him _ ! Ebb!” He takes a deep breath and buries both hands in his windswept hair, elbows sticking up and out as his face breaks into a triumphant grin. “I found Nico!”

I get to my feet, and Bunce scampers off my bed and throws her arms around him. “Nicks and Slicks, Simon! How’d you manage that one?” 

I stand there, resenting the fact that they’re suddenly making me feel like the third wheel in my own bedroom.

Snow briefly hugs her back and then drops his grin altogether when he looks up at me. But as he starts talking, his gaze falls back to Bunce. “I was walking back from the Mage’s office and ended up sitting with Ebb. We started talking and it just kind of...came out of her.”

He runs through their conversation, how it went from the Mage, to school, to her school years. How she mentioned Nicky, her brother, how he left and it was worse than being dead. He tells us about the matching handkerchiefs with sun patterns.

“I feel like I kind of tricked her into admitting it,” he says reluctantly, rubbing at the back of his neck while he looks down at his trainers. “But with everything she was saying, plus the hankie, it all just started to fit into place-- like it just clicked and I asked if she meant Nico, she said yeah.”

I’m staring at him with wide eyes. He keeps talking while words fail me.

“She said he was stricken and they took his name, but she’s kept it; Nicodemus Petty. She didn’t come right out and say it, but he left with others  _ like him _ to Oxfordshire.” He looks up at me again, then to Bunce who’s taken a few steps back from him.

“Do you think they struck him because he left with the vampires?” Bunce asks, glancing from Snow to me.

“I’m surprised they didn’t stake him,” I hear myself say. “Being stricken was a mercy.”

“That’s why we couldn’t find him,” Bunce speaks up again. “He wouldn’t even be in the  _ Record _ after that,” she says, disappearing into the bathroom. A moment later, she reappears, wheeling out the chalkboard so she can write down everything Snow’s just told us.

Underneath  _ stricken _ , she writes  _ For crossing over? For the attack? _

“Ebb made it sound like it was for joining up with them,” Simon says. “Don’t think she knew he was at the attack. I don’t think anyone knows, since he ran off. Besides, he didn’t actually do anyth-” 

“He ran,” I spit with enough venom that Snow flinches and Bunce’s writing halts. “That coward ran and didn’t do a damn thing to stop those bastards from.. from!”

Something in Snow’s features turns down and softens around the edges. I don’t know if it’s pity or regret from being so insensitive, but I still can’t finish my thought. I feel my eyes sting, and I have to turn away from them, fists clenched at my sides.

“He knows the Wolf,” he says, quieter this time. “If we can find him, then we can find whoever called for the attack in the first place.”

I look up at the ceiling and will myself to not cry. I need to focus. 

After a deep breath, I clear my throat and turn back around to look at him with a schooled expression. “Well, it’s a good thing our eighth year spell was made specifically for finding then, isn’t it?”

Bunce turns to look at me this time. “Can you use it from this far away?”

“No, the spell isn’t strong enough to track half way across the bloody country.”

“What if we went there?” Bunce presses, then turns to circle  _ OXFORDSHIRE _ on the chalkboard. “Could the spell work from within town?”

Snow rubs the back of his neck and glances at me. I meet his eye and nod.

“Possibly. We’re still in the testing phase, though,” he says.

If we practice, I think we could. I’m not sure there’s much we  _ couldn’t _ do..

“How are we going to get there?” Penny asks. “Do you have a car, Basil?”

“Yes,” I huff, some of the tension falling off. “But it’s not here at school. It’s in Hampshire, which isn’t far from Oxfordshire, but I’d have to call Fiona or father, and they’ll ask questions.”

“Oh!” Snow nearly jumps and then points at Bunce. “Agatha has a car.”

Something clicks as I remember her talking about having special permission to have a car on campus so she can go home every other weekend.

“Yes, she does. She’s mentioned it the other day” Snow frowns when I say this, but I press on. “I highly doubt she’d let us borrow it, though. Wasn’t it a birthday gift?”

Crowley, have I really been talking with Agatha enough to know this? I must have, because Snow frowns even more and nods, none too pleased I know this information.

“Well then,” Bunce folds her arms in resolve. “I guess we’ll just have to get her to drive us. I can spot a bit for the petrol and snacks.”

“But she’ll want to know  _ why _ we’re going to Oxfordshire,” Snow argues without looking away from me.

“Then we just tell her why.” Bunce throws her arms in the air and sighs loudly. “Just because you two broke over the summer doesn’t mean we can’t be friends still-”

“We  _ are _ still friends, Penny!”

“And doesn’t mean she can’t join us on a mission.”

“This isn’t a mission,” Snow groans and turns to her, exasperated. “We’re trying to find a killer.”

I roll my eyes as they start to bicker, and I let them have at it until they start talking in circles around each other.

“So we just tell her what we need to and use her car. It doesn’t matter! We need to find Nicodmus, so we can find the Wolf.” I have to talk over them, but they settle down and Bunce sighs.

“Alright,” she says and casually puts a hand on her hip, and Snow nods.

“I’ll talk to Agatha about it tomorrow.” I assure them.

Snow starts to interject, but Bunce interrupts him.

“Now that that’s settled out of the way,” Bunce turns to Snow and leans closer to him. “What did the Mage want?”

“Oh, um,” he glances between Bunce and me a few times before fixing his gaze on the ground. “He, uh, asked me how class was going and um...asked me to keep an eye on Baz.”

This somehow doesn’t surprise me, and I just roll my eyes while Bunce’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Why? Has he not noticed you’ve been doing that since fifth year?” she asks, like it’s no big deal. Like fifth year wasn’t utter hell for me because he wouldn’t leave me alone for a bloody single  _ second _ . Always there, making me want him when I didn’t want to, making me  _ miserable _ .

“Y-yeah, I know. But it’s just...I think he thinks you’re up to something.”

He looks at me now, and his face is different. I can’t tell if it’s apologetic or worrying, or a weird mixture of the two.

“Well,” I huff and cross my arms indignantly. “I am up to something.”

“What?! But we’re on truce!” Snow starts to stammer while Bunce groans.

“I’m going to find Nicodemus,” I say, and my voice is steely and determined as I eye the board and envision what I’m going to do when I find him. “And you lot are going to help me.”


End file.
